


here is something to believe in

by foxflowers



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Major Spoilers, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Character Tags to be Added - Freeform, Polyamory, Sexual Content, Swearing, Time Loop, Vomiting, cause everyone's here, i love literally every character in this game except for edelgard and rhea, so get ready, sothis meddles for no other reason other than she thinks it's funny, strap in boys this will have everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-01-15 11:04:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21252356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxflowers/pseuds/foxflowers
Summary: because I will yield to none.Soulmate + Time Loop AU.Byleth has always been different. Aside from her nine marks, apparently. But somehow, she knows she’s done this before. And the familiarity makes her want to vomit.Or: everyone looks to Byleth as the light. Byleth looks back.on temporary hiatus! check my profile or my Tumblr: raindrops-on-the-roof





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [non-linearity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20146903) by [0shadow_panther0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/0shadow_panther0/pseuds/0shadow_panther0). 

> hello! thank you for reading this!  
first and foremost, i would like to say that this fic was inspired by non-linearity by 0shadow_panther0! please, go and give that fic a read! these fics are obviously different, but this would never have happened without it!  
secondly, i would like to warn that this fic has explicit descriptions of violence and will eventually have explicit sexual content. you have been warned!  
thirdly, it has not been beta read and i am DESPERATE for a beta reader (or a few!) if you are interested, please message me on tumblr: raindrops-on-the-roof !  
so far, the doc is 18k words and i've been writing 1k words a day so should be good! this'll update once a week on FRIDAYS (aest)  
please enjoy! i adore this game and all of its characters (except edelgard and rhea) so expect more than just a cameo from all of them :)  
oh and one more thing! until romance is explicitly revealed (via her marks), the relationship won't be tagged, so no spoilers! the characters will be updated as i write them in the doc, though :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (short because it's the prologue! chapter one will be out tomorrow!)

Jeralt had always told her that her marks were nothing to worry about.

She had been born with one, a tiny, nearly insignificant smudge on her ankle that would’ve been missed if the midwives hadn’t searched her for it like they had every baby since time immemorial.

It is thought to be a blessing from the goddess, Byleth knows that much. It is said that the goddess herself had despaired in her late life that she had never found her “other half”, and hence given the humans the means to find their own - the first thing your soulmate ever says to you while in love with you is written somewhere on your body, and vice versa - matching spots.

And that would be okay, she supposes, if things were ever that simple.

She had been one, and so not yet old enough to remember, when her father had found a second smudge on her chest whilst bathing her - definitely more rough in shape than the last one, sitting just above her heart. 

It was not unheard of for someone to have two marks, anyway.

Until, when she was nearly 3, another smudge had appeared on her inner thigh. She had started picking up sticks by then and whacking her father with them, and he had decided maybe it was time to learn basic manoeuvres, as someone with three marks was essentially nonexistent, and he hadn’t wanted Byleth to become an exhibit.

Aside from that, she clearly wanted to learn.

Jeralt had thought that three was clearly the limit, so when he had lifted her hair to tie it up, barely a month after her fourth birthday, he had gasped in shock. Byleth had spun around immediately, worried about what had made her always stoic father surprised, but he shook his head at her and turned her back around to do her hair.

On the back of her neck was another mark, in a script so neat he could almost make out the words.

She had barely had four before she had five, waking up less than a half year later and shrieking when she looked in the mirror. Jeralt had run in sword at the ready, almost certain something had taken his precious daughter, but had stopped when he saw she was fine.

“Honestly, kid, you’ll send me to an early—”

She turned around to watch the colour drain from his face. He reached up to cup her right cheek, running his thumb over tiny words, before pulling her in for a hug.

She had asked what they were, then, and he had been more than happy to oblige. The word “soulmate” hadn’t really existed to her until then, but for a long time, it was all she could think about, other than her training.

Especially when another mark appeared on her upper left arm days before her fifth birthday.

And she had thought she was done, then: six marks was ridiculous. Is she honestly supposed to believe that she has six soulmates?

No, the universe decides, placing smudges along her knuckles, behind her leg, and in the palm of her hand, all before she turns six. She is to have nine soulmates.

And usually careless with dates, her father had surprised her that when she asked almost six years later, he could still recall the days they had all appeared; listing them off like a shopping list.

And as she had grown, as she had learned to fight, she thanked everything that there was only one she couldn’t reliably hide, because she didn’t want to become someone’s science experiment. Someone with two marks was rare enough.

The words had formed properly by the time she was twenty, neat script on her neck, ankle and palm, scribbles on her legs and cheek, and utter chicken scratch on her arm, knuckles, and over her heart.

Since they had formed, her father had been bemused, up until she revealed the one she saw the most often: beautiful lettering spelt “Professor, I…” in the middle of her left palm.

He had stared at her then, almost searching for something out of the ordinary, before he had clapped her on the back and left the room without a word.

She didn’t think she’d ever become a professor. Her life with her adoring father and their ragtag band of mercenaries had always been more than enough for her; so most of the time, she put all her marks out of her mind and pretended the scrawl on her cheek was the only one.

But one day, during the Great Tree moon, she dreamt of a girl with grass-green hair, and everything screeched to a stop.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is chapter one! i hope you all enjoy :D  
i've hit 20k words on the doc, so hooray!

She reclines on a throne, something huge and ancient. Somehow, Byleth knows that even though it’s made of stone, it isn’t uncomfortable. She doesn’t like that she knows that.

The girl narrows her eyes at her, but it seems to be more out of confusion than anger. “Why are we here, Byleth?” She asks, then frowns and adds, “Again?”

Byleth doesn’t know who this girl is, where they are, or what she’s talking about. She hopes her silence conveys that well enough.

The girl purses her lips and changes the arm she’s leaning on. Her almost ridiculous amount of jewellery clatters lightly. “Mortals,” She mutters to herself, before saying louder, to her, “It’s starting to bleed through the cracks, this time. Fragments.”

Byleth takes a step forward and feels her hands shake. She doesn’t know why they are shaking. The closer she looks at the girl, the more longing is borne in her chest. She stops looking. “What fragments?”

The girl’s expression shifts to something resembling pity. “I am sure you will find out soon enough.” She sighs and looks to her feet; bare albeit delicate chains, like those around the rest of her. “I do not envy you your path.”

Straightening her back, the girl eyes her with hesitation before obviously coming to a decision. “We shall start with me, I suppose.”

She hops off her throne and walks towards Byleth, every step towards her adding to the ache in her chest. Why is she feeling like this? Why is she feeling at all?

The girl stops on the bottom stair, close enough that Byleth can make out the separate strands of hair in her braids. “Listen well, child. Do you remember me?”

Byleth opens her mouth to say no, but a weight comes crashing down onto her shoulders, and she flinches against it, her gaze shifted to the ground.

She looks up at the girl, only to be in a room she’s never seen before, and the girl is floating next to the single bed with an expression of distaste. “You need to be focusing, child! They need you!”

Byleth opens her mouth to say something, do something, but she blinks and the room is replaced by a suffocating void - a horrifying nothingness that makes fear sweep her through her and shake her to the bone.

And she knows it’s somehow her fault, but doesn’t know why; she looks up at the solemn expression on the girl’s face and knows that it doesn’t matter, because this is the parting of the ways.

Her eyes are filled with tears as she walks towards Byleth, whose arm goes out without realising, and the girl reaches out too—

But the girl fades before her eyes, just before their fingers brush, and something in the back of her mind _ explodes. _

She flings up, the rickety bed creaking below her. It’s dark, and the back of her mind is quiet, but she knows. “Sothis…”

She recalls lonely days without her, but where or when or how, she doesn’t know, and before she can think about it further, her father knocks on the door and enters, a tired smile on his face.

“Hey, kiddo, it’s time to wake up.”

_ Her father. _

Again, weight crashes on her, and instead, her father is smiling at a red-head whose countenance shifts to something sinister as soon as his back is turned. The beginning of a scream rips through her.

“Kid! Hey, Byleth!”

She blinks and Jeralt is looking at her with fear in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

She blinks again, and almost immediately, those intense emotions disappear, and her father looks almost uncomfortable at her sudden blank expression.

He watches her with concern for a moment, then continues, obviously deciding it’s nothing. “Okay, well, it’s time to move out. Our next job is in the Kingdom.” He goes on to lecture her about keeping her focus, and she nods in understanding.

She picks up her admittedly small pack of belongings before gesturing to the door. Jeralt shakes his head. “Right, yes, let’s go.” Before he can reach the handle, however, one of her father’s mercenaries bursts in.

“Jeralt! Sir! Sorry to barge in, but your presence is needed!”

He blinks, before gesturing to the door and following him out. Byleth trails behind them, a bad feeling brewing in her chest.

“What’s happened?”

The mercenary seems bewildered himself. “Three kids just showed up out of nowhere, saying they’re being chased by bandits!”

“Bandits? In Remire?” Jeralt pushes the front door open and motions them through, before being directed to toward the source of the crowd.

The confused mercenaries split for their leader easily, and Byleth can make out a formal voice over the din. “I appreciate you sending for your leader, but we must make haste. They might be ransacking the village as we speak.”

Weight hits her shoulders so hard she falls to her knees. A boy in blue bows, blonde hair flopping onto his face in a way that’s almost comical, in a garden she’s never seen. He smiles charmingly up at her, and she’s tearing through soldiers to get to him, even as searing, _ blinding _ pain rips up her arm, and tears are blurring her vision as a strong arm pulls her back, but she screams and fights because she _ needs _him, he can’t be gone, he can’t—

“Dimitri,” She sobs, not knowing who that is, and she coughs and splutters, not used to the emotions. Someone hauls her up from the ground.

“Byleth! Byleth, what’s going on?” Her father looks horrified at the sight of tears on her cheeks. Something in the back of her mind shifts, and she knows Sothis is awake.

The boy steps forward, hesitant. “Did she, by chance, happen to say ‘Dimitri’”? His voice nearly makes her vomit.

Sothis huffs. _ “I’m asleep for five minutes, and you already cause this ruckus. Pull yourself together, child!” _

Byleth takes a deep breath and a step away from her father, who had turned to growl something at the boy. She takes another, and the emotions fade of their own accord, and she’s left with her usual impassiveness.

“Uh, forgive us, sir, but we would not bother you were the situation not dire.”

She looks at them, then, without realising that she shouldn’t; her attention is drawn to the boy in blue from her vision, blonde hair shining in the moonlight, blue eyes wide and unassuming save for the deep circles beneath them. Her heart aches and she doesn’t know why.

Jeralt stands half in front of her. “Bandits? Here?”

“It’s true.” A smooth voice interjects, and a girl with silver hair steps forward. Her purple eyes make Byleth shiver, and weight feels inches off her shoulders. Sothis grunts, obviously strained. _ “Now is not the best time for this, wouldn’t you agree?” _

Sending her a silent thank you, Byleth tunes back into the conversation. A boy in gold steps forward, emerald eyes glittering, and Sothis exhales sharply, _ “I am sorry, my child—” _

The invisible weight crashes into her like a wave, and she’s flung back against the grass. She takes the hand offered to her gratefully, and she gets to her feet only to have a charming smirk directed her way on a face that’s so familiar she wants to cry. “You know, Teach, if you had already fallen for me, you could’ve just mentioned…” He winks, and she catches sight of his right cheek, words scrawled there for the world to see, and she presses her lips to his temple only to pull back and see a half-grown beard and eyes that are haunted—

And she knocks the helmet off a person in flames, the hardened violet eyes waiting for her making her choke on vomit and a distant voice scream in fury, and she’s kneeling in front of her, starlight hair bound to horns, “Please, if it’s anyone,” her voice is raspy, but she’s begging, “I want it to be you—”

The sword comes down—

“Byleth!” Her father is on the ground beside her now, shaking her. “Byleth, can you hear me?”

She blinks a few times, and each time the heavy emotions fade back more and more until they’re barely a distant memory.

She nods at her father and stands, fully facing the three students, who are each looking at her in varying degrees of worry. The boy in gold clears his throat, smirk painted on. “The bandits?” He tilts his head in Byleth’s direction, and she somehow knows he’s going to wink, but instead he catches sight of something on her face and his expression falls to something genuinely shocked.

_ “Ah,” _ says Sothis, sounding smug. _ “Now there’s something you don’t see every day.” _

Her father seems to have noticed something, too, if the vague choking noises are anything to go by; but the boy in blue seems to rapidly lose patience. “Right, the bandits. We were hoping you would be so kind as to lend your support. They were just behind us when we reached here, through the northern forest.”

Byleth glances at her father, who is still staring gobsmacked at the boy in gold, and sighs inwardly. She takes a step towards the blonde, drawing her sword. The more she looks at him, the more something in her aches. “We’ll help.”

His beam is nearly blinding when he turns it on her - presumably in thanks - but seems to see something that makes him stop. “Uh, your mark…”

Her confusion is apparently funny enough that Sothis giggles. “Yes…?”

The silver-haired girl frowns at Byleth out of the corner of her eye, and boy’s eyes dart to the one in gold. She follows his gaze, and as soon as she meets his emerald eyes, he seems to snap out of whatever trance he’s in. “Well, well, fancy meeting you here!” He winks, and fond nostalgia swamps her so fast she almost smiles at him.

_ “My, what a handsome face!” _Sothis says pointedly.

And she’s right, Byleth supposes; the boy is almost objectively attractive, with striking eyes and high cheekbones, and her handwriting scrawled on his right cheek—

Sothis cackles like a witch from the old folktales, and Byleth feels her heart jump into her throat. Her eight other marks itch as if daring her to forget about them.

Not really knowing what else to do, she nods at him in acknowledgement before turning to her father. He, too, snaps out of it when he meets her eyes. “Let’s get started,” She prompts, before nodding to the three and marching towards the northern woods surrounding the village.

Sothis is still chortling as she enters the first line of trees, and Byleth scrubs a hand down her unusually warm face and hisses at her to shut up.

_ “Feisty, are we?” _ She says between laughter. _ “Ah, it shall never get old.” _

Jeralt is bellowing out orders behind her, and she learns her father’s mercenaries are taking the east and west in case the bandits have fanned out. She doubts it, personally - the woods are too thick to travel through so quickly, but she disregards the thought and continues forward.

A branch cracks somewhere to her left and she drops into a crouch, unsheathing her sword. Sothis wishes her luck quietly before fading to the back of her mind. A bandit runs at her from the left, but she dashes up to him and runs him through before he can think to lower his axe.

She withdraws her sword and kicks the body away, only to be forced to parry a blow from her side. She pushes the bandit back before spinning around to see three more approaching. From there, she falls into a familiar dance - parry, thrust, parry, dodge, parry - the bandits, clearly not expecting her to be capable, quickly fall to the steel of her sword, their blood coating the forest floor.

She flicks her sword distractedly, listening for any other attackers, when soft footsteps approach from behind. She whirls around, ready to take another one out, only to come face to face with the boy in gold, who immediately cringes away from the red-stained sword pointed at his neck. “Hey, now! Let’s not be hasty, huh? You’ll take someone’s eye out with that.” His smirk looks slightly wrong: eyes a bit too bright, smile a bit too wide. Something in her aches the closer she looks at it, so she averts her eyes.

The other two jog up behind him, the silver-haired girl pinning the boy with a disapproving stare. “You should know better than to run off like that when we’re fighting, Claude.”

His name raises a vague sense of longing in her, but she doesn’t know why. He brings his hands up behind his head and laughs, although Byleth knows that it’s hollow. “Come now, your highness, I was checking up on our dear friend…”

“Byleth,” She supplies, wondering why he thinks they’re friends. Sothis snorts, clearly awake again.

“Byleth.” He grins at her shallowly and bows, long and low. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Claude von Riegan.”

She doesn’t know what to do, so she bows back. “Likewise,” She mutters, avoiding his eyes.

The boy in blue seems startled by this turn of events. “Please pardon my rudeness. I have not yet introduced myself to you either. I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Crown Prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.” His smile is sincere when she turns to him, his blue eyes even more so, and her heart aches so much she struggles to keep her expression neutral.

Her mind catches up and she takes a few steps back. “Prince?” She’s shocked, but she knows her expression nor tone will show it.

He nods sharply. “Indeed.” He then raises a hand to rub the back of his head, face contorted in a wince. “I… suppose I did not have to mention that.”

The girl in red scoffs. “You did not, but I suppose I should introduce myself properly as well.” She turns to Byleth and bows fluidly, her hair spilling forward over her shoulders. “My name is Edelgard Von Hresvelg. I am the Imperial Princess and Heir apparent of the Adrestian Empire.”

Byleth bows back in return to them both, but before she can open her mouth Claude is speaking again. “I suppose I should mention that I am the Heir of House Riegan, the preeminent house of the Leicester Alliance.” His smile is light, his tone even more so, but his eyes are shuttered.

She is saved from responding by a roar of anger behind her. She turns, and a large man, draped in the common garb of the Empire, emerges from the shrubs just off the main path. Byleth readies her sword, vaguely taking note of the vein pulsing in his forehead, but he doesn’t attack her; no, at the last second he pivots to her left, towards Edelgard. The girl, clearly surprised, doesn’t realise to draw a dagger before the axe slashes her, tearing the flesh at her side open with an awful noise that seems much quieter when it’s an enemy. “Noble brats!” He snarls, and Byleth kicks his feet out from beneath him before plunging her sword into his chest, but the damage is done—

_ “Oh,” _Says Sothis, apparently surprised.

Edelgard raises a visibly shaking hand to the wound at her side as if to try and stem the blood gushing out of it, but pales rather quickly when it makes a rather disgusting squelch. “Oh,” she says faintly, before her eyes roll back in her head and she slumps to the ground.

Dimitri crying out her name jumpstarts Byleth, and she’s reaching to a power she knows exists in her mind before she even realises, and the world freezes.

_ “Well, well.” _ Sothis isn’t physically there, but Byleth can feel her smug expression. _ “You _ do _ remember, do you not?” _

And Byleth doesn’t, not really, but she knows that Edelgard cannot die here, that nobody can die, she loves them all too much—

Familiar weight bears down upon her despite Sothis’ struggle, and she watches, helpless, as a girl with hair like spun gold is shot off her pegasus, blood spurting from the arrow lodged in her neck, and someone screams in terror, and she realises it’s her when her throat rips apart—

And it’s with blurry vision that she stares at the broken body of a young girl in her arms - _ too young, _ Sothis is saying through tears, _ too young _ \- a young man with dark skin and darker hair is cupping her face with shaking hands, and the colour of her eyes still remind her of the anemones decorating her room despite them seeing nothing anymore, and she brings her body closer as she weeps, something in her chest breaking—

And the world smells like blood and death when she meets the redhead again, the sound of steel ringing in her ears, and she’s _ begging _ him, desperation ripping through her words, and he hesitates on his horse, proud stature wilting slightly, but before he can answer the building next to him hefts a final groan and gives out, but there’s not enough time for him to move, and she’s running toward the rubble, fear piercing her veins—

Byleth stumbles, needing to sit down, but she hears a roar of anger behind her and forgets it - because nothing, _ nothing _ can compare to the anger she feels at this irrelevant bandit trying to kill her beloved friends ( _ “Friends?” _Sothis will question her later, and she will shrug), and she spins and runs towards him, relishing in his look of surprise as she dodges his axe’s sweep. She feels the anger take hold of her face now, too; teeth bared, she pivots behind him and aims for the back of his neck with the hilt of her sword. He goes down, but she runs him through for good measure, and flicks the blood off her sword furiously.

Sothis hums. _ “You didn’t have to kill him.” _

Byleth’s anger isn’t subsiding. “He tried to kill them. He would have kept trying.”

The girl hums again but falls silent, and as she walks back to the three shocked teenagers, the rage only just fades, but Byleth can still feel it stewing beneath the surface. Instead, something else rises up, and she runs to the shrubs and coughs up her breakfast, tears and unseeing eyes burning behind her eyelids. The dirt on the forest floor gets under her nails and her knee had landed on a small stone in a way that’s probably going to tear her stockings, but she’s far more caught up on the smell of blood and the sound of sobbing—

A heavy hand rubs her back, albeit hesitantly, and she turns to her left see the prince crouched next to her. He coughs awkwardly, red rising up his neck. “You are ill. Are you able to make it back to camp?” Claude is on her right, a slight frown on his face, while Edelgard watches the forest, a hand on the axe strapped across her back. _ “Oh yes, now she’s cautious,” _Sothis grumbles, and Byleth mentally shushes her.

She turns to Dimitri, trying to school her features into her usual impassiveness, but his eyes are so earnest she can feel tears fill hers as weight hits her once again, Sothis calling her name in worry - Dimitri’s eyes grow haunted and angry and he towers over her in this broken cathedral, and she curses the five years, curses them to all the gods in the sky as he turns to slam his fist into the post next to her, the force cracking the old stone. “Get out,” He spits, but she can’t, she won’t leave him again, and she reaches for his hand—

It’s so much bigger than her own, and she looks to see the young blonde sputtering, red colouring his cheeks.

Sothis snickers.

Byleth drops his hand in something close to horror and scrambles onto her knees, Dimitri and Claude still hovering. Claude regains his lazy, fake smirk as she checks for holes and brushes the dirt off her tights. “Ya know, Byleth, if you’re ill, we can help you—”

“No,” She says shortly, Sothis’ snickering starting to get on her nerves. She pushes herself to her feet despite the exhaustion clouding her vision.

_ “A moment,” _ Says Sothis, all laughter gone from her tone. _ “Perhaps it would be best to wait—” _

Byleth ignores her and takes a step.

The world promptly goes blank.

* * *

She dreams of Sothis again, who looks at her in irritation from upon the stone throne. “Now look what you’ve done!” She huffs a breath out her nose. “Honestly, these visions are taking more out of you than you realise, _ and _ you were in a fight, _ and _you rewound time! You mortals, always stupidly charging forward!”

Byleth lets her rant, not really knowing what to say.

The girl pauses suddenly, as if remembering something. “That princess was going to die.” She leans forward, head tilted as if trying to work out a particularly vexing equation. “You did not try to save her?”

Byleth blinks. “He changed direction at the last possible second. There was nothing I could do short of taking the blow.”

Sothis narrows her eyes. “And why did you not?”

She blinks again, sufficiently confused, and starting to feel like she was being interrogated. “I would have died - there was no chance to parry.” She clasps her hands behind her back and stares at her feet. “Besides, I could turn back time.”

“And how did you know you could do that?” Sothis leans forward further.

Byleth opens her mouth to form a response, only to realise there was none. Something heavy forms in the pit of her stomach. She closes her mouth with a snap.

Sothis leans back again, but keeps her eyes on Byleth. “Curious…” She mutters, then takes in Byleth’s troubled expression. She claps her hands and gasps, evidently remembering something else, before asking, “You are showcasing emotions?”

Byleth starts. Impassiveness had been all she was capable of experiencing, let alone showing, her whole life. And yet…

“Today has been different,” She says simply, though she knows something has changed within her - what it is, exactly, she can’t pinpoint. Judging by the minuscule raise of her eyebrows, Sothis knows too, but instead of pressing the point she just mutters, “You have no idea,” before sighing and gesturing her to leave. “You should wake up now. The future awaits, I suppose.”


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey again :) didn't write as much this week, been super unmotivated -_- hopefully things pick up next week!  
here's a 5k chapter! thank you so much for your reads and kudos and comments, i look at every single one !!!

Byleth opens her eyes to the familiar feeling of a horse beneath her - her father’s sturdy mare, Vedetta, walks alongside Jeralt, who remarks on something to the man next to him. A knight, Byleth thinks, taking note of his full body armour. The man laughs heartily at whatever Jeralt’s dry wit cooked up and claps him on the back, and the mercenary allows himself a small smile.

Byleth sits up, intending to look around more, but instead draws the attention of her concerned father. “Byleth!” He immediately moves closer to the horse. “Listen, kid, are you okay? You’ve been collapsing, and puking, and screaming…” His eyes search hers for something.

She nods sharply. “Yes. I just needed some rest.”

Jeralt considers her for a second longer before nodding, albeit hesitantly. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

She nods again, and looks away, intending to look around (she can hear a lot of people around her, and she gets the feeling they aren’t her father’s mercenaries), but instead catches the eye of the knight next to her father. Immediately, the man bounds over, somewhat reminding Byleth of an overexcited puppy. “Well, good morning! The captain was just telling me all about you!” He leans in conspiratorially and whispers, although the man seems incapable of managing anything less than quiet yelling, “I heard you took out the bandit leader in under five seconds!” He leans back again and laughs heartily. “Just what I’d expect from his child!”

Byleth laughs too, albeit awkwardly, not really knowing what else to do. The man seems to remember himself. “Oh, of course! My name is Alois! I was the Jeralt’s squire back when he was captain of the Knights of Seiros!” He bows, though walking while doing so makes him look like he has debilitating stomach cramps.

“Squire?” She asks, confused. Sothis snorts when the probably more important question comes to her.  _ “Captain of the Knights of Seiros?” _

Jeralt rubs the back of his neck, smile sheepish. Alois roars with laughter. “You never told her, captain? Ah, what a fantastic prank!” He beams at her. “Yes, the captain and I served the archbishop for many years, but he disappeared twenty years ago! I’m almost worried he’ll run off again!”

Jeralt shakes his head. “Even I wouldn’t dare run from the Knights of Seiros.” His tone is resigned, almost melancholy, and Byleth understands immediately - they have no choice in this matter.

“Oh, Byleth!”

She straightens immediately at the sound of her name on Claude’s lips and turns to see the teenagers walking behind her horse, and a veritable battalion of church knights behind them. If she strains her eyes, she can make out the tail end of her father’s mercenaries behind the unit.

Claude catches her eye with a charming smile again and she slips off the horse and walks towards him without thinking. Dimitri and Edelgard lag a bit as Claude picks up his pace to keep up with her. “Are you feeling better?”

She nods, keeping her eyes ahead. “Where are we going?”

Claude raises his hands behind his head and exaggerates his strides. Byleth has to stifle a laugh, to her shock, and Sothis’ as well, if her gasp is anything to go by. “We’re heading to Garreg Mach Monastery. The three of us are students there.”

_ Garreg Mach Monastery.  _ The name brings a warm feeling to her chest, a stark difference to the dread that had been resting there since she’d met Sothis.

_ “Well, that is simply rude,”  _ Sothis huffs,  _ “It isn’t as if I’ve had the most extraordinary time with you either, child.” _

Byleth ignores her and tunes back into the conversation. The three bicker amongst themselves, and she has to force down a nostalgic smile.

Edelgard scoffs at something Claude says, violet eyes flaring. “Me? Naïve? Tell me, are you actually incapable of keeping quiet, or is your lack of self-awareness a condition of some sort?”

Dimitri is stifling laughter behind his gauntlet, but when he catches her eye he lowers it and graces her with an earnest, bright smile that makes her breath catch and her cheeks warm. “Byleth, the way you held your ground against the bandits was captivating! You never lost control of the situation. It showed me I still have much to learn.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, and opens and closes her mouth before Edelgard interjects. “Your skill is precisely why I must ask you to consider lending your services to the Empire.”

Dimitri looks at her in withdrawn frustration. “Halt, Edelgard. Please allow me to finish my own proposition.” He turns back to her, tilting his head. “The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus is in dire need of exceptional individuals such as yourself. Please, do consider returning to the Kingdom with me.” His eyes are so genuine she struggles to stop herself from immediately agreeing, and wonders what is coming over her. Sothis snickers.

Claude tuts. “No class, honestly.” He winks at her, and her handwriting on his cheek makes her own burn. “I was hoping to develop a long lasting bond before begging for favours.” He eyes the other two and taps his cheek, where their marks are. Dimitri has the decency to look chastised, but Edelgard simply turns her gaze forward, her eyes cold.

The prince clears his throat, obviously looking for a topic change. “This will be your first time at the monastery, will it not? I would be happy to show you around.”

Claude hefts a sigh, and shoots his gaze to the foliage around them. “It really is Fódlan in a nutshell.”

“Like it or not, we’ll be there soon enough.” Edelgard’s tone is clipped, but her eyes follow the treeline almost eagerly as a collection of buildings atop land too small to be a hill but too large to be a mountain come into view.

Byleth’s heart aches at the sight, something in her longing to be there once again.

_ “Once again?” _ Sothis questions. She shrugs, the sudden movement catching Dimitri’s attention, and he beams again when she meets his eyes. Her lips twitch with the effort of reigning in her own.

Claude starts peppering her with questions, then, seeming to want an idea of who his soulmate was, but her other marks burn, and his smile has yet to reach his eyes. Instead, it feels like some kind of investigation: he is building the bigger picture, trying to see through her.

One question throws her off. They’ve almost reached the monastery, and she can make out the Crest of Seiros on the flags flying from the towers. The breeze is sweet and light, as is common during the Great Tree moon, carrying the smell of the forest towards the group long after they emerge from it. He gazes at the fields for a moment, greening and visible now that they’ve begun to climb. Byleth takes the chance to wipe the light sheen of sweat accumulating on her brow, but he rounds on her after barely a pause. 

“Before you’d seen us, you mentioned the prince’s name.” His eyes glitter, and Byleth instantly knows this is the question he’s really wanted to ask. “How did you know he was with us?” A sharp inhale behind her tells her Dimitri is listening in too.

Her mouth dries as she internally flounders for an excuse, but she keeps her expression schooled. “I must have recognised his voice from when we visited the Kingdom many years ago,” She says, but it’s a beat too late, and while he nods, she can tell he doesn’t believe her in the slightest.

She is saved from explaining herself further by her father beckoning to her as they prepare to enter the gates of the monastery, and she bows and mutters “Excuse me,” before catching up with Jeralt and stepping through over the threshold.

Immediately, she is swept with warmth; everything, from the humble markets to the towering cathedral is tinted with familiarness, and she knows intrinsically where everything is, much to Sothis’ clear surprise and worry - she nods to Alois as he splits off with his knights and Jeralt’s mercenaries in the direction of the barracks, and Edelgard and Dimitri nod to her as they head off to where she knows the Officer’s Academy is. 

Claude, meanwhile, sticks by her side as her father leads them up the stairs, only flicking her a two fingered salute as he turns down the hall, presumably going to the library.

As soon as he’s gone, Jeralt turns to her and lays heavy hands on her shoulders. His expression is solemn as he meets her eyes. “Keep an eye out.” She frowns at his suspicion, but nods regardless. Her father claps her on the back, and they walk into the audience chamber.

A man in blue rushes over immediately. “Jeralt, I presume?” He only waits a second for him to nod before launching into instructions, but Byleth’s mind is lagging as Sothis grunts, struggling to keep weight off her. She meets the man’s eyes, and something catches in her throat - Sothis is weeping as she struggles, and her sorrow makes tears well up in her own eyes. 

_ “Cichol,”  _ She whispers.  _ “Cichol.” _

Byleth doesn’t know who that is, but she takes a deep breath and realises the man has been speaking to her. “Apologies, would you mind repeating that?”

His expression shifts to one of great distaste, but he complies. “My name is Seteth. Lady Rhea has found a place for you in the monastery as a professor. You will be expected to head a house and educate them to the best of your ability in the matters of combat. Do not disappoint the archbishop.” His tone is clipped, and he speaks incredibly matter-of-factly, but her mind catches on the order to head a house.

Before she can raise an objection, her father steps in. “Hold on, a professor? We’re mercenaries!” He frowns. “Where even is Her Grace anyway?”

Seteth sniffs. “The archbishop is otherwise occupied today. I suspect she will hold audience with you tomorrow.” He directs his gaze to Byleth, and she stiffens, trying to keep her attention on him and not the quiet weeping of Sothis. “I will find you in the dining hall at the toll of the seventh bell to escort you to your quarters. Do not be late.” He bows quickly and marches out of the audience chamber towards where Byleth knows is his office.

Jeralt watches him go. “Strange man…” He then turns to Byleth and claps her on the back, concern molding his expression. “Are you up to being a professor?”

Her palm burns and she holds it out, the elegant handwriting familiar. Her father eyes it with disdain, before he sighs heavily and runs a hand down his face. “Very well, then I suggest you go out and meet your future students. Picking a house probably won’t be easy.”

She grimaces at the thought, something cold running through down her spine, but her father interrupts her thoughts. “Listen, I should go find Alois before he has a heart attack. If you walk down the hall from here, first door on the left is my office. They’ve given me my old job back.” His tone is almost despairing. “You’ll find me there if you need me.”

“And one more thing.” He leans in close. “Seriously, don’t trust anyone. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Byleth nods to him, and he ruffles her hair and gives her a nod before striding out of the chamber.

Finally left alone, she mutters to Sothis as she lets her feet take her to the fishing pond. “What was that all about?”

The girl sounds shattered, but is still clearly struggling against the weight seeing Seteth had brought on.  _ “I knew him… A long time ago.” _

“I thought you were all knowing?” Byleth tries not to look too closely at any faces as her path takes her out to the courtyard, lest Sothis be saddled with yet more weight to withhold.

She sighs, and the sound is so heavy Byleth feels her own heart sink.  _ “Indeed, it is clear now that I am not. Apparently, there are things that even I will forget.”  _ Her voice hardens, even as it shakes.  _ “Yet, I did not forget that that man was Cichol. I remember many things that I should not, and as it seems, so do you.” _

Byleth nods, and takes a shuddering breath as memories of people she doesn’t know flood her mind - of Dimitri hardened and angry - of Claude soft beneath her hands - of Edelgard wheezing in pain - and cuts it off with as much force as she can muster.

_ “But I am not remembering things the same way you are,”  _ Sothis continues,  _ “I remember things separately - almost split…”  _ She trails off as Byleth reaches the pond, pointedly avoiding so much as glancing at the dormitories. It’s easily afternoon by now, and she remembers that the sun only hits the pond this way past the fourth tolling of the church’s bells. Her comfort and familiarity unsettles her, but she sits at the end of the dock anyway and watches the fish swim lazily beneath her feet.

She feels Sothis hesitate, and frowns. “Spit it out.”

_ “... You have lived this life many, many times, child.” _

Her blood is cold in her veins, suddenly, and she’s gasping for air, and Sothis is frantically calling for her, but abruptly it makes sense; the familiarity, the fondness, the knowledge, the aching.

The longing, and the love.

“... Why?” She whispers, barely audible in her own ears.

Sothis is genuinely solemn for the first time she can remember - yet.  _ “I do not remember clearly myself, but what I do remember…”  _ She shudders.  _ “Is pain.” _

The images of glassy eyes and bloody limbs rise to Byleth’s mind unbidden. The ache in her chest is harder and harder to ignore, and Sothis is shouting in alarm, but she blinks and the man in blue, Seteth, is bowing to her deeper than anyone ever has to her. “If you need anything,” He’s saying, voice shaking,  _ “Anything, _ please do not hesitate to tell me.”

I need you to be okay, she doesn’t say, as his eyes grow dark and heavy and insomnia ridden and his expression more and more pained under knowledge and history she knows he didn’t deserve and never will, and she reaches out to cup his face as he collapses to the ground and sobs for siblings torn to pieces—

And the urgency of the lips against hers nearly drives her crazy, and she pulls back to see smiling green eyes and mussed lip gloss that she can taste on her own. Hands trace her thighs, one running over writing she knows is there, has read a thousand times, and she moans—

And she screams and screams as she watches an archer’s lithe body crumple to the ground, as she fails to reach him in time, and the searing pain in the palm of her hand isn’t half as bad as the agony in her chest, and she collapses and slams her fists into the goddess-cursed land cursing everything herself, and the world is darkening as she sobs and coughs and splutters and—

“—an you hear me? Can you hear me?”

She’s shivering, it's so cold, and she forces her eyes open but the light makes her wince.

The voice is urgent. “Nod if you can hear me.”

She nods, and he heaves a sigh of relief. “You fell into the pond. It’s a good thing my friend and I were going fishing, huh?”

Ah. Well that explains the suffocating cold, she thinks, but she opens her eyes again to the probably the bluest eyes she’s ever seen; the lovely shade of celeste reminds her so much of the seas of Brigid that she nearly loses herself in the memories.

_ “Careful, now,”  _ Sothis remarks dryly, though she can hear the relief colouring her tone.  _ “You’ve never been to Brigid.” _

He is cradling her head in his lap, she realises with a start, and when she blinks he seems to snap out of something and leans back. His boyish face has a familiar twinge to it, and Sothis grunts near immediately, grumbling under the weight. He studies her, before his eyes light up. “Hold on, are you the mercenary who saved Edelgard?”

She decides to sit up before answering, but is overcome by a coughing fit that leaves her lungs burning and water dribbling out of her mouth. The boy’s eyes and face and entire being seems to fill with worry, and he pats her on the back whilst seeming to look for someone.

He must find who he’s looking for, as he yells, “Lindhardt! Over here!” He rubs her back and gives her a hesitant, but no less genuine smile. “I sent Lindhart to get a healer. Hopefully he got someone competent…” He laughs then, a high, free sound that sends her heart soaring, despite the pain in her throat.

It’s then he reaches to run a hand through his drenched hair, the shade identical to his expressive eyes, and she catches sight of his knuckles, her handwriting scrawled upon them, and chokes on a gasp, falling back to the pavement. Sothis cries out, and she’s kissing those knuckles, looking up at the boy-turned-man and relishing in the red in his cheeks in the half-hearted twilight of the training ground—

_ “Byelth!”  _ Sothis all but shrieks.  _ “Snap out of it! You are choking!” _

She blinks and knuckles are still against her lips, but she’s lying flat on her back as a woman with makeup fit for a stage relegates to a boy with green hair - both of whom nearly swamp her with weight, but Sothis whimpers but holds it off. Linhardt and Manuela, her mind helpfully supplies to her through her deoxygenated haze, but the name that leaves her lips isn’t either of those; no, instead, “Caspar,” is breathed against knuckles so used to causing harm, and she hears him inhale sharply over her coughing fit.

Manuela seems to come to a resolute decision as more water dribbles out of her mouth, and she says something to Linhardt that she can’t hear due to the blood rushing in her ears. The boy hesitates, and it’s long enough for her to glare at him in impatience and turn to Caspar, whose fingers have slowly begun to wrap around her own.

She says something again, and he nods immediately, withdrawing his hand. She mourns for a second, and Sothis scoffs at her lack of lucidity, but she returns to herself as soon as arms curl under her legs and shoulders and she’s lifted off the ground. 

Embarrassment floods her immediately, and despite the burning in her lungs and the coarseness of her throat (she can still taste the dirt in her mouth from the pond water) she tries to speak. “W-wait…”

Caspar’s eyes are determined as he follows Manuela and Linhardt back across the grounds - probably to the infirmary, she thinks - but his voice is solid and kind. “It’s okay, miss! Professor Manuela will get you back up and running in no time!”

They’re most likely drawing the stares of all that they come across, but Byleth can’t bring herself to take her eyes off his face. He doesn’t seem to be struggling at all under her weight, which would be surprising if she wasn’t so sure of how much he trained. Sothis scoffs again, all bite now that she knows she’ll be okay.  _ “Honestly, foolish girl, you are staring!” _

She agrees mildly, taking note of how water drips from his hair down to the hollow of his throat. “He jumped in to save me,” She realises, and he looks down at her as Sothis hums in agreement. “You-You saved me,” She says, louder, to him.

He scoffs, though his wide smile reveals the lack of malice behind it. “You think I would just let someone drown? No way!” The students in the reception hall start whispering as they enter, but her heart nearly bursts at his earnestness.

A shiver comes over her, then; a large one that makes her shake uncontrollably in his arms. They’ve reached the stairs, but he looks at her in concern. “Are we gonna get up the stairs okay?”

She nods, and goes to pull her cloak tighter around her, only to realise it’s missing completely. She freezes, dread cracking down her spine. “C-Casper, where’s my c-cloak?”

He frowns. “I’m not sure. Maybe we left it at the pond?”

She tries not to panic. The mark on her arm would be only slightly covered by her metal plating, and the one on her neck by her hair - the gauntlets mostly cover her knuckles, and you’d have to look to see anything, which people won’t due to her cheek.

Satisfied that everything would be covered enough and hoping nobody looks too closely, she allows herself to be carried up to the infirmary, annoyed despite knowing she probably couldn’t walk due to the shakiness of her body.

_ “And we’re through with trying to walk when unwell, aren’t we?”  _ Sothis says pointedly, but Byleth pretends she can’t hear her.

The loss of Caspar’s arms around her is more jarring than she thought it would be, but Manuela ushers the two boys out of the room as soon as she is laid on the bed, ordering Caspar to stay on the other side of the door so she can check him over. 

Byleth wonders why she kicked them out if she’s only getting magicked better, but her thoughts are interrupted by a particularly vicious coughing fit that leaves here eyes watering and her consciousness wavering. Manuela pats her on the back, her eyes genuinely sympathetic, before she starts to remove Byleth’s sopping wet clothes.

Sothis makes a vaguely concerned noise as her arm shoots out to stop the mage, but her grip is weak, and the older woman simply clicks her tongue before forcing her back down. “Now is not the time for modesty, dear. Those clothes are soaking, and staying in them will only give you pneumonia.”

Dread and panic fills her, and she wants to lash out, but Sothis stops her with a quiet tut.  _ “It cannot be helped. This woman is correct.” _

But she can’t let someone see the marks, and the panic filling her is making her splutter again as Manuela cries out in alarm, and her consciousness flickers once, twice, and she hears Sothis sigh as everything goes blank.

She doesn’t dream, this time; instead, she remembers.

She remembers laughing and joking with Manuela, sitting in the small tavern in the town at the foot of the hill, her easy company making Byleth feel like maybe she  _ does _ belong somewhere, and the stars paint the sky as she walks her back to her quarters, stifling a snort at her crocodile tears over some young knight.

The scene changes to something more familiar and more horrible, screams and blood painting a battlefield, but it’s horrifying that the scenery, too, is familiar; Remire Village is bathed in fire, and Linhardt next to her is staring, horror-struck, as villagers scream and attack each other, each more rabid than the last. He’s whispering something, too, and they both watch as students - some recognisable, some not and yet still familiar - cut down commoners who have lost their minds to save those who haven’t. “Professor,” he says, voice shaking. “Never let me do this.”

She looks to him, and recognises somewhere in her mind that his terrified demeanour is uncommon, and more importantly,  _ genuine,  _ and she claps him on the back and meets his eyes as she nods, expression firm. He nods back, but his eyes are no less haunted as he turns to stare over the flames until someone calls for his assistance.

And she turns and has to parry a cut to her side, but the attacker, painfully familiar, pivots to bring his sword back around, and suddenly it’s taking all her focus to disarm this man, who is quick on his feet and fights like he needs to win - but he doesn’t. The training grounds are always empty in the dead of night, and the torches provide enough light to highlight the focus on his face. He’s impatient, she notices, as she dodges a leg sweep, but then he attacks her head on - their swords cross in front of her as she parries, and he meets her eyes between the swords and she can hear Sothis gag but it’s far away as she reaches to tuck midnight hair that’s come loose behind his ear and his honey eyes zero in on her lips, and he drops his sword and rips hers away in favour of smashing his lips on hers. His arms wind around her and it’s almost painfully tight but she doesn’t care and he pulls away and mutters something she should hear but nothing comes out, and the back of her neck is buried in warmth—

She shoots up, hand on her lips, and the first thing she notices is her lack of gauntlets. 

The second is that all her clothes, including her lost coat, are lying in front of the infirmary hearth, and that she is in a simple white gown.

The third is that the room is not empty.

“Professor!” Manuela is having tea at the table, her hair slightly askew, but her expression is relieved. “It’s good to see you awake! You were out for about an hour, you know.” She chuckles. “That poor Caspar didn’t want to leave until he saw you awake, but I sent him off to eat something.”

She immediately tries to stand, resolutely ignoring the fact that Manuela shouldn’t know she’s a professor, but her legs wobble, and the physician hurries over as Sothis tuts, unsympathetic.  _ “Foolish girl…” _

“Now, now, we shouldn’t be walking so quickly, hm?” She helps Byleth sit back down on the side of the bed, but sensing she’s itching to leave, sighs heavily. “What has you in such a hurry?”

“Seteth asked me to meet him in the dining hall at the seventh bell.” She says, noting the darkness outside.

Manuela nods, unimpressed, and her pursed lips tell that she’s severely unhappy with letting her go. She relents, however, but not before telling Byleth to walk slowly and go to bed as soon as she’s shown to her quarters.

“You nearly drowned, after all!” She hollers out the door as Byleth leaves after redressing, and she’s too tired to hide a fond smile at the woman’s antics. 

The bell tolls seven just as she makes it down the stairs, and she curses, pushing herself harder. Sothis tuts again, and Byleth wonders if she’s capable of doing anything that isn't condescending. The girl huffs at her.  _ “Cichol can wait an extra five minutes for you, child! It wouldn’t do to have you collapse again!” _

Memories of Seteth’s pained eyes flood her, and she shakes her head and walks faster.

By the time the lights of the dining hall come into view, her chest is aching, and she’s forcing down coughs that threaten to choke her. But the sounds of chatter and laughter warm her, and she pushes the door open to see many familiar faces, though not all of them from recent memory.

Sothis groans immediately as she unconsciously eyes people grouped together, weight inches off her shoulders; a girl with pink hair is laughing with Claude as another girl sits silently beside them, eyes downcast. A boy with bright eyes and freckles talks animatedly with a boy with glasses, and she distantly remembers him from a hellscape and tries not to. She sends Sothis a mental apology, to which she grumbles, and avoids looking at anyone else she hasn’t met.

Caspar gives her a wave from his seat next to Linhardt, and he goes to stand but eyes Seteth marching towards her from across the hall and visibly winces.

The man stops before her, pinching his nose, then shoots her a look of disdain. “Did I not tell you to be here at the seventh bell?”

And Byleth loves the man, she really does, but it doesn’t mean she’ll let him keep that stick up his ass. “I was in the infirmary. I nearly drowned.” She makes sure it’s short enough that he feels guilty, but not so short that it’s obvious she’s consciously being rude.

Red rises in his neck and he coughs, clearly trying to cover up his shock. “Right, well, yes, did Manuela clear you for being down here?”

She nods once, struggling to keep her impassive expression, and decides to put him out of his misery. “She ordered me to bed rest as soon as I was shown to my room.”

He nods back immediately, and his shoulders relax. “Indeed. “Well, follow me, please.”

He leads her back out of the dining hall and along the dormitories, to the room right at the end. He stands outside it impassively, and she would’ve almost been fooled if the tips of his ears weren’t red. “This will be your room. It is close to the students, to allow you to better keep an eye on them. I trust you will showcase proper behaviour at all times.” His tone says otherwise, but he continues anyway. “Tomorrow, there will be a meeting at the ninth toll of the bell between the professors, Lady Rhea, and myself. You will be expected to attend.”

He bows shallowly, and it reminds Byleth of the bow from her memories in their stark differences, but before she can consider it further he bids her goodbye and strides into the night.

_ “Well,”  _ mutters Sothis, her voice straining,  _ “I do not know about you, but I am exhausted.” _

She takes the cue and pushes the door open to the feeling of home, and knows that this is where she belongs. The room is tiny, sure, but the windows showcase the sky, and the carpet is soft as she kicks her boots off and walks across it, and the desk is littered with paper and ink, ready to scribble lesson plans onto, and she sits on the edge of the bed and feels the weight of the day lift her.

_ “Easy for you to say,”  _ Sothis grumbles, but she is clearly drained.

“Thank you,” Byleth says, staring at the stone walls and wondering what she can actually do to help.

_ “Go to sleep, child,”  _ Her tone is exasperated.  _ “Then we can both rest.” _

And her eyes are heavy, she realises with a start, and she’s glad her pack ended up in her room as she pulls off her regular clothes and changes into her nightwear; in the warmer months, a simple shirt and an old pair of shorts.

Sothis sighs in happiness as Byleth lays down, but when she goes to blow out the candle, she catches sight of her knuckles, and pauses. “Manuela didn’t mention the marks.”

Sothis is clearly done with the day.  _ “Let us worry about it in the morning.” _

Byleth frowns, but blows out the candle anyway. Left in the dark with no answers and an exhausted mind, sleep quickly takes her.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks, sorry about the delay! i genuinely just forgot lmao, i've got a new job and learning it has been kicking my ass - and my writing's ass. the next chapter may be delayed as well, i think i've written a total of one sentence the past week. sorry, and enjoy!  
trigger warning for blood and gore. stay safe guys!

She remembers her students watching her die.

Sothis can’t see everything, after all, and though the girl tries her best, sometimes things go white before she can use it. They share the power - that much is obvious, but if Byleth is hit, it’s up to Sothis to move past the phantom pain she feels through their bond and rewind it for her. Even after she disappears and Byleth’s hair turns mint green, she always trusts Sothis.

Sometimes, though, she can’t move past the pain until everything is gone.

Byleth never remembers what happens after she dies, but she always remembers in excruciating detail the moments before.

Once, she’s grazed by a lucky arrow, on a battlefield miles away from the monastery. The head slits her stomach through a chink in her armour and it makes her crumple almost instantly. Pain explodes there, and her mouth tastes metallic as Sothis screams in her head, and Claude appears, and he doesn’t blink as he looses an arrow toward the perpetrator, and doesn’t watch as it pierces the man’s jugular. Another man whose eyes she remembers being light runs to her, and lets his lance fall to the ground. They drop to their knees beside her, panic clear on both of their faces, especially when Claude’s choked voice calls frantically for someone called Marianne, and the other calls for a Mercedes, smooth voice unusually ragged; but she knows it’s too late - she grips their hands, and tears fall from their eyes. Sothis is wailing now, and she knows that she is crying too, but black spots begin to fill her vision, and breathing is starting to take effort.

Claude tears a strip off his shirt and wraps it around her middle, and the white hot pain that explodes there makes her scream, and she can hear him begging, even as she knows blood begins to soak the makeshift bandage.

She wishes that it didn’t have to be here, in the vile mud of this detestable battlefield in this wretched war, and she knows intrinsically that it won’t be, that Sothis will save her, and yet—

The boy next to her starts to sob, cradling her face with his hands, and she runs her shaking hands through his soft red hair as he presses his cheek against her hair. She can hear Claude begging now, and more footsteps splat over.

“Oh goddess, what’s happened?” The blonde’s shrieking voice is a stark contrast to what Byleth knows is her usual even tone, but the woman drops to her knees beside her, pushing the two out of the way. Her blue eyes search Byleth quickly before she tears off the torquinet and cries out. “This… There’s nothing I can do…”

She’s bleeding out. She’s bleeding out in the mud of a battlefield, and the woman kisses her forehead, tears running down her face, as the other two clutch her hands, weeping. She has to force it out. It’s so important.

“I love you,” She wheezes. “I love you all.”

It’s common amongst her memories of dying, Byleth muses, that she tells whoever she’s with she loves them. Not for any sickening aim, like needing to hear it back before she passes, but for the simple reason that whenever she dies, she is surrounded by those she loves, whether she bleeds out slowly and painfully, or whether she is killed near instantly.

Another time, she takes a horse. She’s never been particularly skilled with one, nothing like the three redheads, but she needs the maneuverability this time. 

And it goes well at first, a girl Byleth recognises from a small village she and her father had passed through backing her up, wielding her lance like an extension of her as they ride along the front lines so Byleth can command the forces.

But she’s not adept enough at dodging, and an assassin sneaks past the girl (and Sothis) and throws a dagger.

Byleth ducks it, but doesn’t duck the point-blank arrow shot into her throat.

She crashes off her horse as Sothis shrieks, and the girl defending her subdues the madly laughing assassin before sprinting to her, orange eyes burnt under the weight of the fear.

Her life slips away quickly, sand through her hands, and she can barely force out a gurgled “I love you all,” before everything goes blank.

Each one is more painful than the last, it seems, although she’s sure that’s all in her head. Her mind shuffles through them, but she’s had enough, and tries to wake up, only to watch the girl with pink hair bring down her massive axe to split the skull of a man in black armour, the sounds of war surrounding her. She whirls around immediately, tears in her eyes and blood spattered into the crevices of her clothes. “Professor! Professor, Marianne… She...”

Cold dread fills her, a familiar sensation now, and she runs after her, and it’s barely 10 seconds before they come across a body, bright blue against the dirt of the battlefield. They both drop to their knees, and sobs rip through the girl’s throat as she stares at unseeing eyes. Byleth’s sight blurs, and she reaches a shaking hand to grab the blue girl’s hand, but the cold makes her start to sob as well, and the girl in pink howls to the sky.

And she blinks, and the hand in hers is warm and comforting, and the bright-eyed boy is dragging her along a path outside the monastery to a clearing behind it, just before the forest. “Professor, Ignatz is painting! I-If we’re quiet, maybe we can sneak a look…” His eyes are sparkling, and she beams back, and they both crouch and try to be quiet, but she can’t stop her joyful giggles as the boy continually trips on stones and steps on large branches that snap. He looks back to her, face red. “I suppose I won’t be a good knight if I can’t stay quiet, huh?” She shakes her head, trying to repress her laughter as Sothis snickers in her head, but she makes eye contact with the boy and they both break into hysterics, falling back onto the grass. She hears footsteps approaching from behind, but before she can even think to worry, Ignatz’s voice carries over them. “What are you two even  _ doing _ ?”

The boy beside her tries to contain himself, and Byleth appreciates the way his grey hair ruffles in the light wind. Sothis snorts. “Sorry, Ignatz, we were trying to see what you were painting. I promise we didn’t mean anything by it.”

Ignatz huffs, standing over the pair. “Well, I  _ was _ painting the birds, but now they’ve flown off!” He’s clearly trying to sound disapproving, but his timid voice and stature barely allow him to sound annoyed. 

The boy laughs again, the sound as clear as a bell, and his smile is like the sun, and the words are out of her mouth before she even recognises them. “Paint Ashe.”

Byleth shoots up, his name on the tip of her tongue, and Sothis shimmers into existence beside her bed. She nearly screams.

Sothis rolls her eyes. “Well, good morning to you too, child.”

She groans and lays back down, throwing an arm over her eyes. Her mind is scrambled, and still exhausted. “All I dreamt about was…”

Sothis sighs. “The children, yes. And those were not dreams.” _ They were memories. _

It goes unsaid, but she groans again, sightless eyes burning behind her eyelids making her want to vomit. Her stomach chooses then to growl, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before.

“And you will want to hurry,” Sothis adds, smirk in place, “As the eighth bell chimed not long ago.”

She restrains the urge to fling her pillow at the girl, and instead jumps up, pulling off her nightclothes. When she reaches for her usual outfit, though, Sothis tuts. “You might want to smell those before putting them on.”

Byleth eyes the girl suspiciously before lifting her shorts to her nose and sniffing. She then coughs in disgust, gagging as she flings them away. _ Pond water. _

Sothis cracks up now, catching her queasy expression, and points to a neatly folded uniform resting on her cabinets. She must’ve missed them coming in last night.

When she looks at the uniform, though, the skirt worries her - her leg marks won’t be covered.

Thinking quickly, she pulls on the shirt, then her stockings, which thankfully didn’t pick up the smell, then her skirt. She fastens the cape and headband, pulls on her boots, and is out the door to the dining hall within five minutes, her stomach grumbling the whole time.

Sothis hums, impressed. _ “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get ready that quickly,” _

Byleth is deadpan, the two-minute walk to the dining hall two minutes too many. “Great.”

Sothis ignores her tone and continues. _ “It may be worth your while to meet some students this morning. You do have to choose a house, after all.” _

Byleth frowns as she steps into the cafeteria, distressed at the thought, but before she can think on it further, someone calls to her.

“Excuse me! Over here!” The pink haired girl from her dream is beckoning to her from her seat next to Claude and Marianne. She grabs a plate of bread and honey, quietly thankful for that it’s the season for it, and makes her way to the table, sitting opposite the three. She can feel Sothis is relieved that they haven’t triggered any memories.

Claude grins at her, and it doesn’t meet his eyes, but the girl interrupts her before she can say anything about it. “So, I hear you’re the mercenary who saved Claude’s sorry ass. We of the Golden Deer house are grateful!” She says this all with a tone that’s half sarcastic, half exhausted, and punctuates her last word by stabbing a piece of her breakfast sausage.

Claude’s smile grows. “I’m glad you’re feeling so patriotic today, Hilda, since I’m sure Marianne needs help exercising our horses! Why don’t you join her?” His tone suggests it isn’t a question.

Hilda huffs, and Marianne startles at her name, spoon dropping into her porridge with a plop. “Oh, um, that won’t be necessary…”

Claude winks at the timid girl. “Nonsense! I can’t believe you do it yourself every week! I’m sure Hilda would be _ happy _ to help.”

Said girl stabs another piece with her fork. “Ecstatic.”

“Oh… Okay…” The bluenette bobs her head. “Thank you.”

A soft expression comes over Hilda’s face, but she doesn’t say anything else about it, instead turning to Byleth.

“So, are you to join the Knights of Seiros? It wouldn’t surprise me, the way everyone’s been talking about you!”

Byleth takes the last bite of bread, savouring the flavour of the honey, before shaking her head, avoiding Claude’s knowing gaze. Sothis scoffs. _ “I’m not surprised that boy is already aware.” _

Agreeing inwardly, she stands. “Apologies, but I have a meeting to attend. Hopefully I will see you all soon.” She inwardly cringes at how robotic she sounds. Hilda nods and smiles, and Claude shoots her a wink. Marianne doesn’t look up from her food.

The walk to the audience chamber is rife with whispers, monks and knights and merchants alike conversing in hushed tones about the mercenary who saved the next leaders of Fódlan. Byleth can feel her ears tinge pink every time someone looks at her.

On her way past the Officer’s Academy she spots Dimitri conversing with a blonde and a redhead in the courtyard, both of whom are familiar. _ “You’ve remembered them,” _Sothis says, voice subdued, and she tries to forget the memories of death but they start to swamp her, and her eyes are aching as Sothis calls out to her, and she looks at her hands and they’re covered in blood—

“Byleth!”

The hand on her shoulder is light but firm, and she looks up to meet the beautiful blue eyes of the prince, and everything fades as quickly as it came. She looks to her feet, takes a deep breath, and steps back. “My apologies. I do not know what came over me.”

For a moment, his eyes almost reflect empathy, before they smooth over to concern. “I see. If you need it, please do not hesitate to visit the infirmary. I have heard of your troubles from yesterday, and I am sure Professor Manuela would not be averse to a check-up.”

She nods, but before she can excuse herself, Dimitri beckons the two others over. “These are two members of the Blue Lions, a house here at the Officer’s Academy. Ingrid is the daughter of Count Galatea, and Sylvain here is the heir to House Gautier.” 

The girl with gold spun hair bows to her, while Sylvain takes her hand and brushes his lips against it, sending tingles down her spine. “A pleasure to meet you, gorgeous. My name is Sylvain Jose Gauntier. Feel free to say hi whenever you like.”

Ingrid whips up immediately, glaring at him. “Don’t you have _ any _ decency? This is the woman who saved His Highness!”

Sylvain’s smile becomes genuine, which is surprising, because Byleth hadn’t even noticed it wasn’t sincere. _ “A mask indeed,” _Says Sothis, apparently curious.

He bows, and she has to stop herself from reaching out to touch his hair, remembering that it’s soft. “Thank you for helping our prince, fair lady!”

She barely represses a snort. Instead, she says, “It was no trouble,”

Sothis hums in her head. _ “The meeting, child!” _

Byleth silently agrees, and bows. “Apologies, I have a meeting to attend. It was a pleasure to meet the two of you.” She rises. “Please excuse me.” Dimitri and Ingrid nod as Sylvain waves and she steps towards the reception hall. 

She gets the feeling they talk about her as soon as she leaves, although that may just be the idea that Ingrid continues to berate Sylvain on his skirt-chasing tendencies. Either way, she hopes it’s nothing that will jeopardize her friendships with them.

_ “Friendships?” _ Sothis asks, tone cautioning. _ “You just met the pair, and you barely know that prince.” _

“Maybe so,” She mutters back, “And yet…” She catches Edelgard’s eye in the hall, and the silver-haired girl nods, but doesn’t beckon her over, and Byleth breathes a sigh of relief. She’ll barely make it in time to the meeting as is.

She takes the stairs two at a time, and pushes open the door to the audience chamber just as the bells start to chime.

“Ah! Professor Byleth. I am glad to see that you made it.” Seteth sounds anything but glad she made it. “This is Lady Rhea, Archbishop of the Church of Seiros.”

The woman standing next to him is beautiful; white lilies decorate her mint hair around delicate chains that remind her of Sothis, and the weight that hits her is astronomical; Sothis is too busy weeping to stop it, but the only thing she sees is a great, white dragon, obliterating spears of light that rain down from the sky as Seteth screams at her to run—

She blinks.

“My apologies, Your Grace, I must have misheard,” She tries, but the woman’s peaceful expression remains, eyes warm. Sothis’ weeping deepens into something resembling sobs, and she tries to send calming thoughts, but to no avail.

“I was simply saying how wonderful it is to have you and Jeralt at the monastery.” Her smile is light. “I have not seen either of you in a very long time.”

Byleth really shouldn’t know anything about the circumstances surrounding her birth - but she does, so she simply nods and stays quiet.

Seteth steps forward again, as do two others, one being Manuela and the other an older man, monocle glinting in the morning sunlight that streams through the stained-glass windows. “These are the other two professors. I believe you have already had the _ pleasure _of becoming acquainted with Manuela.”

Manuela eyes the man distastefully before turning to Byleth, smiling as she looks her over. “I’m glad to see you’re looking better this morning, Professor. My name is Manuela Casagranda.” She bows, her arm fluttering out behind her. “I’m a professor, a physician, and a songstress. It’s wonderful to officially meet you.”

Byleth decides to indulge her, restraining a fond smile. “You’re a songstress? You’ll have to perform some time.”

Manuela’s smile widens to something delighted as the man next to her lets out a quiet sigh. “Of course! Before I came here, I belonged to a renowned opera company. Perhaps you've heard of me? The Mittelfrank Opera Company's beautiful, peerless—”

The man next to her interrupts then, rolling his eyes. “Now, spare our colleague the needless chatter, Manuela.” He turns to her, and bows. “I am Hanneman von Essar, a Crest scholar and professor at the Officers Academy.” His smile is kind as he rises, but he seems to be scrutinizing her. “I wonder if you bear a Crest of your own.”

“I do,” She says, not thinking.

He raises his eyebrows, seemingly surprised she would know. “Indeed? Well, you must tell me—”

“It’s the Crest of Flames.”

Silence follows, Seteth’s and Hanneman’s apparently shell-shocked, while Manuela looks confused. Rhea’s expression does not change, though she seems to be staring straight through Byleth.

“Truly?” Breathes Hanneman, eyes bright as a child. “You absolutely _ must _ come by my office then, as soon as you have a spare moment! So many things to do, by the Goddess, I never thought—”

“While this is lovely,” Interrupts Seteth, voice hard, “We must determine the house leaders.”

Hanneman nods, though the excitement doesn’t leave his face. Manuela smiles at her. “As you’re new, we’re allowing you first pick!”

Instead of nodding, she frowns, and she thinks of the students, all of them beautiful, all of them her friends, and the answer is clear.

She instead turns to Rhea. “Archbishop…” She pauses, trying to collect her thoughts. “I am afraid I cannot head a single house. I am more than happy to become a professor, but during my time as a mercenary I saw the separation and distance between the common folk and the nobility, and among the nobility themselves, whether they be of the same nation or another. I find I am… unwilling to offer my abilities to simply one nation.” Sothis makes an impressed noise in her head, apparently composed.

Seteth narrows his eyes. “You _ dare _ insert yourself here and criticize the archbishop’s methods?” His voice is scathing, and she resists the urge to cringe.

“Seteth, please.” Rhea looks at Byleth thoughtfully, a soft smile on her face. “I have long believed the way the academy is run is divisive. In such trying times, we need to be coming together, not drawing lines.” 

She nods. “Very well. I will have the preparations began immediately. From now forward, classes will be non restrictive. Each moon, students will decide where they would like to be for that period. For these purposes, Professor, you will be teaching in the Golden Deer classroom.”  
She looks at each of them one by one. “It also means that the three of you will have to work closely together to manage the students’ changing ways. Please keep that in mind.”

Byleth nods, scarcely believing her ears.

Rhea smiles wider, radiant as moonlight. “I will have the news posted on the bulletin boards around the school by the end of the day. Please be ready for lessons to begin next week.” With that, she inclines her head, and the three bow in return and turn to leave, Byleth with a spring in her step.

As soon as the doors to the audience chamber close, Manuela grasps her hands. “Oh my goodness, look at you! Barely here a day and already revolutionising our system!” She laughs, and it’s lighter than air. “As a commoner myself, I say it’s a grand idea!”

Hanneman is impatient. “Yes, the reforms are fantastic, but would it be possible to run a few tests on your crest?”

Manuela rounds on him, expression neutral but eyes blazing. “Now, hang on, Hanneman. I must first insist she return to the infirmary with me. She almost drowned yesterday, and it is imperative I check that she is healthy.”

He nods, though is clearly disappointed, and Byleth is telling him she’ll return the next day before she even realises. Satisfied with that, he wanders off down the stairs, muttering something about pre-research.

Certain they were now alone, Manuela traipses down the hall to her office, motioning her to sit on the bed she was on yesterday. Byleth does so, adjusting her cape so she doesn’t sit on it.

“Now,” Manuela says, uncharacteristically serious, “Let’s talk about your marks.”

Everything stops.

“M-My marks?”

“Yes.” The physician eyes her chest, and Byleth puts a hand over the mark she knows is there. “I saw seven… Are there any more?”

She draws her knees to her chin, and Sothis quietly whispers to her to calm down. She can hear her blood pounding in her ears, but takes a deep breath. There’s no point in hiding anything now; and she knows, deep down, that Manuela wouldn’t tell a soul. For all her gossip and flirtatiousness, she wouldn’t do anything to hurt someone on purpose.

“Yes,” She whispers, and clears her throat, trying to dig out her regular monotone. “Yes, there’s nine.”

The woman exhales in amazement. “I’ve never heard of more than two.” She strides over quickly and grasps her hands, her bright smile lighting up her eyes, and her tone becomes suggestive. “You know, I’ve treated many students over the years here, and I find I can recall a few who had the marks in the same places as you!” Her grin widens, and Byleth’s mind can barely keep up.

“You… Don’t want to send me away to be experimented on?”

Manuela’s eyes widen, as if she hadn’t even considered the idea. “Oh goddess, no! What an awful thing it would be, and rob _ all _of the students of their brand new professor!” Byleth doesn’t miss the way she exaggerates the “all”, and something blooms in her chest, warm and comforting, and suddenly it’s easier to breathe.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” She says, and the physician shakes her head at Byleth, though she’s still beaming.

“I won’t breathe a word.” Her expression becomes sly, eyebrows raised and eyes bright. “But you know, I have seen that one on your chest on—”

“Alright, alright,” Byleth admonishes, though she knows she’s smiling. “Thank you for the offer, but I am afraid I’m not interested in anything like that.”

“Yet!” Sing-songs Manuela, laughing. “Ah, to be young.”

Sothis is sniggering in her head, apparently satisfied with how the conversation turned out.

“Now,” The physician says, hand on her hips, “Have you had a coughing fit since you woke up this morning?”

Byleth shakes her head, and Manuela hovers her hands over her, fingertips glowing white. After a moment she nods. “Well, I can clear you now, but if you start coughing again, please return. Magic can only tell us so much, you know.”

Thanking her profusely, Byleth leaves the infirmary with a wave and a small smile that she can’t repress. 

Sothis seems happy, too. _ “Well, well, look at you! Nothing even _ close _ to this has happened before!” _

Byleth practically skips down the stairs (as much as someone with her countenance can) and pushes open the doors to her left, basking in the sunlight on her face. There are few students meandering around the academy, many having headed into town before classes begin next week.

She stands for a moment, watching a bird land in a flowering tree and place a stick in the junction of a branch, and the tenth bell chimes above her. She eyes the gloves on her hands and decides it’s time for some washing.

The washroom was built into the side of the communal bathroom next to the sauna apparently as a second thought; one must walk through the showers to get to the washboards and tubs, and one must bring their own soap. Thankfully, the taps above the basins are connected to the gas heater that warms the water for the showers, making it much easier to get stains out.

She takes a quick visit to her quarters to pick up the washing and the basket, and eyes her gauntlets and plates - she’ll have to treat them for rust later - then heads up the stairs toward the door to the bathroom, heat starting to pick up. It doesn’t get particularly hot at Garreg Mach, nor particularly cold, but it gets much warmer here than it had in the southern parts of Adrestia, where they had been the majority of the year before coming. And so, a light sheen of sweat graces her brow as she pushes open the door to the bathroom.

As she does so, a small girl squeals. Sothis groans. _ “And here I thought we were through with this.” _

The girl looks up at her, steel eyes wide, and she squeals again and runs off, carrying her soap and towel along with her. Her mop of pale orchid hair bounces as she takes the stairs two at a time.

“What a strange girl,” She mumbles without thinking, and Sothis hums in agreement, but it’s strained under the weight of her memory.

She pushes the door open properly and walks in, eyeing the doors to the shower rooms, and it seems empty. Though, the smells of various soaps combining into something lovely, signifying that most were here earlier. She beelines for the door to the right, marked “Washroom”.

The washroom is similar to the bathroom in size, though instead of shower rooms, basins, taps and washboards line opposite walls, and drains are set in the stone floor up the back. The smell of soap in here is slightly less tangible, but no less sweet, and she makes for the washboard and two basins she’s always used: the second from the right, on the left wall.

From there, she falls into a regular routine; wet the clothes, soap them, scrub them, and leave them in the clean water tub. It’s very close to mindless, but Byleth doesn’t let her thoughts stray, the last time she let herself think too deeply near water stark in her head.

_ “Indeed, as it should be,” _Remarks Sothis dryly, but before she can reply, the door to the washroom bursts open, and a redhead with cropped hair walks in. The girl stops at the sight of her, before a grin takes over. “Byleth!”

“Eh?”

“It’s me, Leonie! I’m Jeralt’s apprentice, remember?”

And Byleth does remember, she thinks; the girl who followed her father around in a small village in Leicester. She couldn’t be much younger than herself.

And she remembers the helpless fear in Leonie’s eyes, too, as her own life slipped away like a wave.

“Leonie!”

She nods, beaming, and Byleth feels herself smile fondly despite the awful memory of choking on blood. Leonie is probably the closest thing to a childhood friend she has, and the thought makes her stop scrubbing her coat and turn to her, fully eyeing the basket of clothes she has; mostly her style of the uniform, but a few orange garments are visible underneath. “Laundry day?”

She nods again, grin wide, and takes a seat at the basins beside her, and starts to fill it with water. “It’s always quieter in the middle of the day.” Her practicality is familiar, as is her happy chatter; she tells Byleth about life at the monastery, her training regime, the people in her class (“If Lorenz says one more thing about the ‘duty of a noble’ I’m going to run him through!”), the people not in her class (“Bernadetta sewed a hole in my sleeve the other day! She seemed a bit uncomfortable, though…”) and so many other things Sothis chuckles. _ “This girl seems quite eager, does she not?” _

Leonie is halfway through a story about training with Felix (the name makes her heart ache but she doesn’t think about it) when Byleth finishes washing the soap out of her clothes. She carries her basin to the back wall, still keeping an ear out for the girl, and tips it out.

“Oh, but what about you, Byleth? Will you be joining the knights with Jeralt?” She turns to look at her, and Leonie’s eyes are wide as saucers. “Wow, that’s so cool!”

“Actually, no,” She starts, placing the basin in the other and pushing them both so they rest underneath the tap, ready for the next person. “Apparently, I am to be a professor.”

Her mouth drops open, and the blouse she’s scrubbing falls into the soapy water. “Oh my goddess. No way!” 

Byleth hauls her sopping wet laundry to her side, but decides to stay to chat to Leonie a little longer. _ “And then,” Sothis adds, “Perhaps you should see that boy. He looked worried in the dining hall last night.” _

She’ll do her training first, she thinks, and Sothis huffs. _ “As long as you don’t forget.” _

Leonie has gotten to her feet, and clasps her hands together, seemingly excited. “You’ll teach the Golden Deer, right? While not everyone is easy to get along with -” She muffles a cough that sounds a little like ‘Lorenz’ before clapping her hands again, “- They’re all good people!” She frowns. “Probably.”

Byleth laughs despite herself, and Leonie looks even more surprised at her show of emotion. She hastens to say something before the redhead can comment.  
“Yes, well, it’s out of my hands for the moment.”

Her frown deepens, but she nods. 

Byleth steps towards the door. “Will I see you at the training grounds at some point?”

The girl smiles at her again, before turning back to her blouse. “Of course, _ Professor _. See you soon!”

As she pushes the door open, it occurs to her that it’s odd that being referred to that way doesn’t feel odd, almost like it isn’t even a new title.

_ “It isn’t new,” _ Sothis says, probably trying to help. _ “Not to you or I. To everyone else, however…” _

When she reaches her room, she digs behind the desk for the small clothes airer the school provides everyone, and pushes it onto her porch, dragging her laundry basket behind her. There, she begins to hang everything out, piece by piece. It’s almost calming, but she doesn’t have enough clothing to truly calm her down, and restless energy leads her to the training ground, plates left for another day. In fact, she might just drop them at the blacksmith’s and be done with it before her meeting with Hanneman tomorrow, and with that thought in mind, she pushes the door to the training ground open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some things i thought while writing this chapter:  
okay so indoor plumbing was technically invented in 1850, and along with it came showers. We’re having showers but not washing machines deal with it. Also, gas heating was invented in like 1868 so succ me  
colours. Colours. Orchid and celeste! Crazy


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the next chapter! (on time, for once). unfortunately where i'm up to is giving me a tiny bit of writer's block, but i'm sure you'll all enjoy this chapter, it was a blast to write.

The heat is really starting to set in now, and as the bells chime twice, she unclasps her cape and hesitates before taking her gloves off. The training ground is empty save for a stoic looking man in armour of the knights sharpening a sword on one of the benches near the practice weapons and a woman with plum hair practicing her bow technique against the targets.

She eyes them both, and the mask she notices on the knight makes Sothis whine. _ “Do you _ mind,_ you foolish girl?” _

She sends a silent apology to her, and grabs a training sword without looking closer at the purple girl. It’s simply a matter of going through the motions, then; stance, swing, grip, all contributing to the loosening tension in her shoulders after the stress of the morning.

After a while she switches to the lance, longer and balanced opposite than what she would prefer, but still proficient - then the axe, when she’s finished with that.

She keeps going for a long time, only stopping when she’s tapped on the shoulder. “Excuse me!”

She whirls around, and the woman is quick to dodge her axe, leaping back in a way so practiced she looks like a dancer. “Do not be worrying. I am not a threat.”

Byleth quickly pulls the axe back and digs the end into the ground, loosening her grasp on the handle. “My apologies.”

The woman nods, and she takes this chance to eye the mark on her face, and the intricate braids in her hair. Immediately, Sothis cries out, swamped, and Byleth blinks only to find that she’s in the library, and the beautiful woman bounds up to her, waving a book she found. “Professor! I am thinking this book will be telling me about the nobles of Fódlan!” She says, bubbly happiness pouring off her. She waves the book in front of Byleth’s face so fast she can’t see the title, but her eyes are bright, and she feels herself smile back without realising. Sothis scoffs in her head at her quiet admiration, but doesn’t say anything.

She blinks again.

“Miss? Are you alright?”

“Yes,” She manages, hoping the twilight covers her stunned expression.

The woman nods delicately, if such a movement could be described as such. “I just thought I would be telling you that it is dinner time now.”

“Ah.” Indeed, the sky was darkening, the brightest stars starting to poke out against the dying light. A quick glance at the benches told her the knight had left, too. “I will be finishing up very soon. Thank you…”

“I am called Petra. I am pleased to have met you,” She says, bowing in the traditional way - a way that has clearly been practiced. Byleth smiles and returns a bow in the same manner, making the girl’s face light up. It’s been a long time since her father forced her to learn it; originally from the Empire, it requires you to put your left hand on your waist and your right behind you. It conveys great respect, but is almost never seen these days, being replaced by the regular hand on your heart bow.

“My name is Byleth. I hope to see you around,” She replies, and the girl nods again before pushing the doors to the training ground open and slipping through.

Byleth pinches her nose, her bones wanting to melt into the ground. _ “Well,” _ Sothis says, obviously restraining herself from calling her something less than polite, _ “That may be because you have been training for nearly half a day.” _ She pauses. “ _ And you skipped lunch.” _

Pretending to ignore her, Byleth picks up the axe again. Judging from the light, there was still a while longer before the dining hall stopped serving dinner. Enough time to finish her axe reps.

She’s just finished her training and is retrieving her regular sword when a student storms in, hair like midnight, and she remembers midnight here, with him, and suddenly she can’t pack up fast enough, her face burning. Sothis snickers.

Byleth almost makes it to the door, too, but his voice rings out across the grounds. “Hey, are you that mercenary? The boar said you are quite skilled.”

She turns to face him, but can’t meet his eyes. She slowly inclines her head, and he scoffs. “Spar with me, then.”

She whips her head up to properly look at him, then, her hand subconsciously reaching for the back of her neck, where she knows those words are, but slightly different. He eyes her hand with narrowed eyes, but doesn’t say anything.

Sothis sighs. _ “Just do it. He won’t drop it until you do, and you’re already here.” _

Inwardly, she sighs back in acquiescence, and drops her things before drawing her sword. “To first blood?”

He nods, and drops into a ready stance that she instantly corrects in her head. With an air of resigned exhaustion, she begins to parry his aggressive thrusts, above her, to her left, above again, dodge a right sweep, watching him quickly get frustrated when she doesn’t show even the slightest sign of being affected.

_ “It’s slightly unfair of you,” _ Sothis starts, almost making her stumble out of her next parry, _ “To use your previous experience of fighting him against the boy.” _

She growls at her to shut up, and uses the momentum of his next overhead strike to trip him up, and elbows him in the gut while he stumbles. He falls to his knees, clearly winded, and Byleth points the end of her sword to his throat. “Yield.”

And he’s nodding, and she lowers her sword slightly, but his hand grips the dirt and throws it at her face. She raises her hands instinctively to protect her eyes, but he’s on his feet again and almost succeeding in twisting the sword out of her grip.

She grins, and he catches sight of it and seems to smile back, and the sight of it nearly makes her lose her wits, but she parries the right sweep he sends her way and follows it up with one of her own, the first outright attack she’s thrown, and from there they fall into an almost fragile dance number; parry, sweep, parry, sweep, and by the time she has him on his knees from a particularly forceful blow, they’re both panting, and sweaty, but she has on probably the biggest smile she’s ever had, and his eyes are so bright they’re practically shining, and he yields.

They both fall back onto the dirt, heaving breaths, and he speaks. “You don’t fight like a knight.”

The reason to her is obvious. “I am not a knight.”

He huffs a kind of half laugh at that, but it comes out cynical and jaded. She’s not exactly sure he intended it to be that way. “I suppose not.”

They lay there for a few more moments, and she takes the time to watch more stars reveal themselves as twilight fades into dusk. As if knowing the perfect time to ruin the moment, her stomach growls.

The boy laughs again, but it’s slightly lighter this time, and she groans as she stands and offers him a hand, rolling her shoulders to try and get the soreness out. He takes her hand. “Felix,” He says.

“Byleth,” She responds.

Sothis snickers. _ “Well, a charming pair, aren’t you?” _

“Will you get dinner with me?” She’s asking before she realises what she’s saying, but Felix nods once.

“You did just beat me. I suppose it’s the least I could do.”

The walk to the dining hall is taken in silence, for Byleth doesn’t really know what to say, and Felix doesn’t seem much for conversation. It’s nice, though - she’s slightly tired of having to fill every silence with words. It reminds her of her father, and how he never felt the need to force conversation either.

_ “Careful, now,” _ Sothis says gently. _ “You say that like he’s…” _

She freezes.

Felix stops and looks at her in question, but she barely notices. For a moment there, she could’ve sworn Jeralt was dead.

But he’s clearly alive, she saw him just yesterday, when she warned her not to trust anyone.

“Are we getting dinner or not?”

Felix’s dry, exhausted tone brings her back, and she nods quickly before starting forward again, and he falls into step beside her.

The dining hall is basically empty when they get there, and it’s still in silence when they pick up their food; meat skewers from Gronder for Felix, and helping of the bourgeois pike for Byleth (she knows it’s more common among nobles, but they rarely received spices on the road, and the spices they top it with are foreign and _ delicious _).

They sit across from each other and dine in silence, Byleth barely remembering her table manners as she eats, somehow knowing Felix is a stickler for it. She’s apparently not doing a good enough job, though, as he smirks and says, “You know that fish isn’t going anywhere,”

She glances at their plates. In the time he’s eaten hardly a quarter, she’s almost finished the whole lot. She puts her cutlery down sheepishly as Sothis snorts. “Apologies. On the road, we didn’t have much time for manners.”

He nods, and it’s sharp in the way all of his words are. “That makes sense.”

He takes another bite of his skewer, and gestures with the pointy end at her food. She bows her head and continues eating, but she makes sure to pace herself with how fast he eats.

The rest of dinner continues in much the same way, the quiet scraping of her knife and fork interspersed by a smattering of conversation, usually him asking her about life as a mercenary and her skills and her responding with simple and short answers, before asking him about life at the monastery.

He tells her of Sylvain and Ingrid and “the Boar” which she gathers is Dimitri (_ “It’s interesting,” _ Sothis muses, _ “What could that blond boy be hiding?” _ Byleth remembers cold eyes in the cathedral and doesn’t reply.) He tells her about classes and his sword and his training, and he talks much of wanting to become stronger, but he doesn’t explain why, and when she asks he seems slightly unsettled.

“Why I want to get stronger? I suppose it’s a result of my upbringing. I learned to thrust a sword before I learned to write my name. That's how it is for all children in Faerghus. You're of no use if you can't defend yourself and your country, however mighty your Crest might be.” He says this all with a sense of bitterness, and his eyes seem to freeze over. “Grow strong so you may live, and live to grow stronger. That's what I was taught.” He laughs, but it’s biting and sour, and she frowns without realising she should school her features.

He catches sight of it and rolls his eyes. “In all, it was the perfect environment for me, with hardly any of those stupid noble values people in the other houses like to spout about.”

She looks down at the last few bites of her pike, the words stinging. Though she had only been grasping at straws in her stand against Rhea, perhaps integrating the houses would be a good idea. Sothis hums in agreement, her concern about the division of Fódlan almost tangible. 

They take their last bites and walk their plates back to the kitchen, companionable silence accompanying them, but as she walks out, a man dressed in yellow throws his arm around her shoulders. “Heya, Teach!”

The name is so nostalgic she nearly weeps then and there, but Felix gives her a strange look. “‘Teach’?”

She bows her head, feeling her cheeks warm slightly without knowing why. “I am to be a professor here.”

Felix’s eyes widen in what seems to be genuine surprise, but Claude cuts in before he can say anything.

“_ And, _if that wasn’t enough, the whole system has changed, too! Now we mark down on the bulletin outside the academy our teacher for the month!” He makes a show of tapping his chin, shooting a wink to Byleth. She sees Felix catch sight of their matching cheek marks and heave a sigh. “I put my name down for Teach’s class, of course, but I’m not sure how many spaces are left…”

Felix makes himself scarce with a barely polite nod, and Byleth turns to Claude and purses her lips. He averts his eyes, bringing his arms behind his head and laughing. “Now, now, don’t look at me like that! I was doing him a favour!”

“Right,” She says, dry as a desert. He laughs again, and follows her as she makes for her dorm. It’s well past sundown, now, and the stars are magnificent, but she catches sight of his false smile and realises that she has more important things to pay attention to.

She stops them in the middle of the courtyard, the flowers swaying near their feet, and she looks up at his expectant face. She blinks, and the ice in his expression melts and is replaced by something suspiciously close to adoration, and his back is pressed against the fence as she cups a bearded jaw and he settles his hands on her hips. She leans so close she can make out the writing on his cheek; “You must be crazy” scribbled in her own handwriting she’s seen time and time again, not knowing where or when. “My friend,” He murmurs, something colouring his tone that lights a fire in her, and she seals their lips and he’s warmer than the sun, and Sothis is yelling.

_ “Byleth, you foolish girl, STOP!” _

The lips under hers are parted slightly in shock, face smooth under her hand, and her stomach drops out from underneath her.

She pulls away immediately, mutters an apology without looking at him, and scurries out of the courtyard before he can say anything in return, cheeks flaming.

_ “Well,” _ Sothis says, laughter in her tone. _ “If nothing else, at least this is entertaining.” _

Byleth rips open the door to her room and hisses at her to shut up. She materializes next to the bed, her expression light. “Oh, come now, worse things have happened!” She says, like the world hasn’t just ended.

She flops down on the bed. Groaning into her pillow is better than thinking. Sothis’ expression gives way to laughter.

“Oh, I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t stopped you there! Would you have started crooning for him like a lovestruck doe?” She starts cackling like a witch. Byleth throws the pillow at her.

It phases right through, and Sothis starts laughing even harder, doubling over (as much as she can in midair) with tears of mirth in her eyes.

Byleth groans again. “Sothis, this is an actual issue! What am I going to do?”

The girl wipes her tears away and replies, though her shoulders are still shaking and her grin is wide. “Nothing, most likely. You are going to pretend it never happened.”

The thought makes her chest clench. She turns to look at Sothis. “Why would I do that?”

She shrugs. “I do not know. But I am sure that is what you will do.”

The more Byleth considers it, the more it sounds like the most viable option. Obviously, she didn't consider the fact that he would like it: no, soul mark or not, nobody liked being kissed by the equivalent of a stranger.

And she didn’t see how she could explain herself, either; the words “I remember you from another life” would probably not only get stuck somewhere between her throat and the roof of her mouth, if she did manage to get them out they would probably get her labelled as a madwoman.

No, as much as it hurts her soul to lie (even if it’s by omission) it does indeed seem as if there’s no other option.

And so, she pointedly avoids Sothis’ gaze as she changes for bed and picks up the pillow she threw, but she can still hear the girl giggling as if it’s all she can do.

“So?” She says innocently, drawing out the word.

Byleth resists the urge to throw the pillow again, and instead runs through the agenda for tomorrow; shower, drop her plates at the blacksmith’s and be at Hanneman’s at the tenth toll, and afterwards she would have to pick up her class list and decide on lesson plans, as well as seminars, if any.

For what feels like the first time, she’s grateful for her previous experiences as a professor; though she doesn’t remember them, exactly, she’s sure that without it, the thought of teaching alone would make her worry.

Sothis hums in agreement, having finally gotten over her laughing fit. “You also forgot to see that wild boy with the blue hair.”

“To be fair,” Byleth starts, but is interrupted by a knock on the door.

She exchanges a glance with Sothis, who gestures to it and disappears. Byleth pads across the carpet and pulls open the door, but not before wrapping a blanket around her to cover the marks. The beautiful blonde on the other side doesn’t seem to notice; instead bowing low enough that blood rushes to Byleth’s cheeks.

“I am so sorry to bother you so late at night, Professor.” Her voice is soft and light, and she recognises it from a dream.

_ “Memory,” _Sothis corrects, and she remembers the battlefield, and the poor girl’s pained eyes, but she also remembers her cradling the head of someone in black armour - someone painfully familiar, and she’s weeping as he bleeds dry over the polished stone streets of the Empire—

She blinks.

“Sorry, would you mind repeating that?”

She smiles, and already Byleth notices a tinge of fondness. “Of course. My name is Mercedes von Martritz. I was walking back to my room from the cathedral when I remembered -” She holds up a small bag. Byleth hadn’t even noticed she was holding it. “I have these!”

The woman gestures for her to take the bag. She grasps the edges of her blanket with one hand, takes it bemusedly and peeks inside. The delicious smell of caramel wafts from it, and she pulls out a piece of toffee apple, the stickiness remaining on her fingertips when she drops it in a daze. Mercedes beams at her, and it’s radiant.

“Annie and I - that’s Annette Dominic - we heard that you would be the new professor, and decided we must make you a welcome snack!” Her eyes are warm, and Byleth resists the urge to hug her.

“Mercedes… Thank you.” Instead of hugging, she bows, long and low. “Please thank Annette for me if I don’t see her first.”

The woman’s head is tilted when she rises, and the smile she’s wearing is definitely fond. “Absolutely!” She bows again, lighter this time. “Well, I’ll leave you to rest, Professor. Pleasant dreams!”

With that, she walks past the laundry (she’d forgotten to bring it in; thank the goddess for Mercedes (Sothis snickers when she thinks this)), off her porch and out of sight.

Byleth sits the toffee on the desk next to the parchment, and hesitates before popping a piece in her mouth. It’s delicious; that much is obvious from the first bite, and she nearly shuts the door before catching sight of the laundry again.

She heaves a sigh without thinking and chews for a moment before lugging the laundry in, conscious that she’s completely visible in the torchlight. Most of it had dried in the afternoon sun, thankfully, and the pieces that were still damp would dry whilst she wore them.

Sothis laughs at her antics, shimmering into existence beside the bed again, but it’s clear from the lack of volume that she’s tired.

Byleth crawls into bed, putting out the candle with her fingers. Her eyelids are so heavy, and she barely manages a “Goodnight, Sothis,” before succumbing to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some more stupid crap i thought while writing this chapter:  
How do i write funny stuff  
What is a porch, actually  
Fuck the word Leicester the person who invented that is english  
I have 100 hours on this game why do i have to keep checking the map  
Do i like bowing too much


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! work's been kicking my ass, so expect the next chapter two weeks from now. as well as that, i missed uploading the first part of last chapter, so please reread that!  
enjoy!

It’s not becoming easier.

That’s her first thought when she opens her eyes on the battlefield, screams around her and blood coating her boots. She resists the urge to vomit when she accidentally steps on a poor soul’s crushed skull, brain bits and bone squishing against her shoes.

“Professor!”

She looks up instinctively at the cry, only to notice the girl with purple hair running toward her, frantically waving her arm. _ Bernadetta, _her mind supplies her.

“Profess—”

An arrow shoots out from the thicket to the northwest, and pierces the back of the girl’s head. She collapses. The shriek is barely out of Byleth’s mouth before the scene plays again, then again, and it only stops when Byleth sprints to cut the arrow out of the air then to bushes to take out the archer with a furious swing of her sword.

But the sword in her hand; it’s revoluting, pulsing and red and made of the bones of the goddess, and she throws it away and screams and screams and screams and her heart is being ripped out of her chest but it doesn’t belong to her—

She wakes up with her throat raw, and it’s still dark out, but Sothis shushes her. “It’s okay! It’s okay, you’re safe.”

“I know. I know I’m safe, but you…” She looks at the girl, faintly visible due to the slivers of moonlight and the unearthly green glow she gives off. “Who are you?” She asks, knowing the answer.

The goddess sighs. “You do not need me to tell you.”

She wants to weep but doesn’t know why. “And Rhea and Seteth?”

She sighs again, heavier. “My children. They are quite a lot older than they look.” She laughs bitterly. “As am I.”

“And you are with me and not them because…?”

She practically wilts at that, sinking to the floor. “That is a very sad story, and one for another time.” She waves towards Byleth in bed. “Go. I will watch over you until morning and keep the memories at bay.”

She hesitates. “But, Sothis—”

She tuts. “No buts. Goodnight.” With that, the girl starts singing an old lullaby she hasn’t heard before but knows off by heart, and she drifts off without another word.

When she wakes again, the sun just peaking over the horizon, she feels more rested than she had since the whole ordeal began. Sothis, next to her bed, barely rouses as she pads around, gathering soap and her clothes for a shower; she must’ve exhausted herself keeping the memories at bay. 

Silently thankful, she pulls her coat on over her pajamas to cover her marks, slips on her shoes, and shuts the door quietly behind her.

It’s still mostly dark out and the morning is pleasantly cool, and Byleth finds herself looking forward to the business of the day; Hanneman aside, it will be exciting to learn the class she’ll have.

She can barely recall, somewhere in the back of her mind, that others had transferred classes before; but who it was, or when it happened escapes her grasp.

When she pushes open the door to the communal showers, she can hear a few running; commoners, most likely, as she has yet to find a noble willing to get up before the seventh bell.

Although, as she tries to find an empty shower, she considers that boy from yesterday - his talks of the demands of his Kingdom float through her mind. It wouldn’t surprise her if he was here, showering before he began his training. 

Classes also started in three days; it would make a lot of sense if people were getting up early to make the most of the last few free days, herself included.

She takes an empty room near the back. The communal bathroom was built to contain the showers in separate rooms - effectively cubicles, but with walls and doors instead of curtains.

She sets her clothes and towel on the bench outside and switches the water on. It never takes long to heat up, and Byleth is so used to the cold water of streams and rivers for bathing that even lukewarm water feels heavenly.

She undresses and lets the water sluice over her, trying once again not to let her mind wander near water. In the last town she’d been in, her father had bought her some lavender soap, shampoo and conditioner, and while she wasn’t usually one for pampering, she did like the smell.

She was rubbing the conditioner in when she heard raised voices from outside. Unfortunately, due to the stone walls being mostly soundproof, that was all she heard - raised voices. It’s none of her business, anyway, and she needs to keep her wits about her.

She massages her knee, the lack of the brace starting to make it ache; it was an old wound, sustained after falling from a tree when she was young. It doesn’t usually bother her, as she usually has the brace, but without it comes the aching. Luckily, she’s handing the plate in along with her gauntlets to the blacksmith, so hopefully they’ll be ready by the end of the day.

The conditioner sits while she scrubs the sweat of the past few days off with the lavender soap, then rinses it all out, heaving a calming breath as the lovely scent surrounds her.

It isn’t long before she dries and pulls her clothes on; the school clothes again, as she couldn’t reliably hide the mark on her arm in her usual outfit without the plates.

When she pushes the door open, she notices that more people have started to wake up - more showers are on, and she can hear something suspiciously like singing coming from the cubicle next to hers.

The door across the way opens at the same time she opens hers, and the man that steps out is probably the broadest she’s ever seen - fluffy blond hair tops the giant, and the buttons on his shirt strain to hold the fabric together. He beams at her, and a memory crashes into her without Sothis there to minimize the damage, and she distantly feels her knees hit the stone as she watches him eat with a boy with frankly awful purple bangs, his booming voice somehow comforting, and she knows he’s going to keep everyone safe, and knows he’s going to keep everyone’s spirits alive and well—

“Professor! Professor, are you okay?”

She looks up into canary eyes, and smiles. Finally, a memory that didn’t make her want to vomit. “Yes, thank you, Raphael.”

The eyes go round in surprise as she takes his offered hand and gets to her feet. “How did you know my name?”

She smiles quietly. “I have my sources.” She gathers her plates and gauntlets, which had spilled onto the ground when she collapsed. She’d have to remember not to hold anything too fragile. Bowing to him, she makes for the door, and he gives her a wave, apparently waiting for someone. She waves back and leaves the bathroom, heaving a breath and feeling a smile form again.

She still wasn’t used to it; feeling these emotions that had long been out of her grasp was almost like a gift, but she’d have to be careful around her father, lest he suspect something.

It was strange, too - only two days ago, the emotions linked to the memories would fade not long after she came out of an episode, but since arriving at Garreg Mach, they now often lingered.

The back of her mind is still quiet, Sothis evidently still sleeping, but as she takes the steps down from the bathroom and makes her way to the small marketplace she knows the monastery hosts, she knows the goddess will have something to say about it.

Daylight has truly begun crack the horizon, sunbeams streaking across the sky, and the view is beautiful as always as she steps outside the entrance hall. A few knights were hastening to their posts as the night shift ended, and some members of the public were already starting to move to the cathedral; most likely farmers, on the way to their daily prayers before heading out to the fields.

Beside her, the Gatekeeper stiffens as she watches the people, and she restrains her smile before turning to him. “Good morning.”

He snaps to attention, his posture somehow straightening even more. “G-Greetings, Professor! Nothing to report!” He relaxes, before leaning in conspiratorially. “You know, you’ve already managed to change the entire method of education in the officer’s academy! That’s no easy feat!”

He salutes her, beaming, and she can’t stop her own smile from breaking through. “I think it’s a fantastic idea! I hope the nobles who sent their children here agree, though…”

Byleth hadn’t even considered that. “It doesn’t matter. The children will still get educated.” She says it firmly, even though she isn’t completely sure.

The Gatekeeper looks relieved, though, and that’s what she was aiming for. “I’m sure you’re right, Professor!”

He waves as she descends the steps to the bustling marketplace. She isn’t surprised it’s already so crowded; commoners keep practical hours. The commotion is familiar, not to mention nostalgic, and she smiles as she follows the path in her head past the armoury to the blacksmith.

The line is longer than she expected, and the church bells toll seven while she’s waiting, giving her three hours before she has to meet Hanneman in his office.

She also needs to grab breakfast, and a thought pops into her head that makes her smile; if she hurries, she might catch her father in the dining hall.

With that encouragement, she hastens the blacksmith along when she gets to the front of the queue, and as she scurries away he calls after her that everything will be done at sundown.

She offers a quick wave to the Gatekeeper as she hurries past him, gives the pond a wide berth as she dashes past it, and takes the steps to the dining hall two at a time.

Sure enough, she catches sight of her father on the far side, and hears rather than sees Alois opposite him. She nabs some bread and honey before taking a seat beside him, evidently giving him a surprise.

“Wha- Oh, hey kiddo.” He ruffles her hair, and she smiles at him. “I didn’t see you yesterday, but I heard about the ruckus you caused. Something about the academy?”

Across from them, Alois chuckles. “Why, captain, she’s practically revolutionised the way the students are taught! It has been the same for nearly 200 years!”

She feels the beginnings of heat start to gather on her face and looks to her food, hoping Jeralt doesn’t notice.

He claps her on the back. “Well, I’ll be. You never seemed all that interested in the teaching before.”

She frowns, bread halfway to her mouth. Honey drips from it slowly to her plate. “I wasn’t, but they were going to make me choose a house.” She takes a bite. “It doesn’t seem right to only offer my services to one country.”

She chews for a moment, and swallows. “Besides, it produces better nobles, which helps everyone.”

Jeralt scoffs as Alois nods. She looks at him. “What?”

“Those nobles have probably already written home about this. Hopefully none of the lords make a big deal about it; the Empire founded this place, I’m not sure they’re going to take too kindly to the change.” His eyes darken. “Who knows what Rhea’s thinking…” He frowns before sighing and shoving the last of his bread in his mouth. “Well, duty calls. Stay on your toes, kid.” He stands and ruffles her hair again before walking out. Alois saluts to her before scurrying after him.

She scoffs down the rest of her breakfast quickly, consciously not looking at any faces as they come in, some shuffling, still half asleep, and some with bouncing steps. When she finishes, she dumps the plate in the kitchen and makes for the training grounds, knowing it’ll be busy but figuring it won’t stop her from training. After visiting Hanneman she has to complete her lesson plans, so if she wants to train today it’ll have to be now.

Sure enough, when she gets there, there’s a few knights about, some sparring with each other, some running through drills, and others just chatting. Felix is on the far side of the grounds, but still manages to catch her eye when she walks in, and gives her a nod. She cranes her neck to see who he’s preparing to spar with, and is only a little surprised to see Leonie - Byleth recalls the girl’s story from yesterday. Apparently, he had caught her spying a few days prior and invited her to test her strength against him. Leonie had admitted they were pretty even, but not without a tone of reluctance. 

She catches sight of Raphael doing weights with a few knights, and he waves when he sits up, bright beam visible from the doorway. She waves back, unable to stop a fond smile from forming on her face. He must’ve taken breakfast while she was in the marketplace; she distinctly remembers him refusing to train on an empty stomach.

No, the most surprising duo training is easily the prince and a tall, broad man with dark skin and the fairest hair she’s seen in a while; from Duscur, she recognises, despite her father refusing to give business to anywhere near Kleisman for several years due to the tragedy.

Jeralt had almost refused to give business to the Kingdom as a whole after the pogrom of the people of Duscur, until news had spread that the young prince, only thirteen years old, was trying to convince the nobles of the country’s innocence. Byleth has a feeling Dimitri will always have Jeralt’s respect after that.

The two clash roughly, and she’s shocked at the weight behind the blows; while the other man wields an axe with power expected from one built like him, Dimitri counters his attacks with the same if not more strength, easily holding his own. Though Byleth would’ve sworn up and down that axes were far more effective against lances than the other way around, the prince was handling his like an extension of his arm, and it seemed to be all the Duscan could do to parry, let alone think of making an attack.

It’s enlightening, almost, watching them fight until Dimitri gets the upper hand, clearly the more skilled dueler between them; he dodges one of the Duscan’s blows with a triumphant grin, and, using the weight behind it, sends the man sprawling - almost a direct parallel to the way she knocked Felix to the ground.

Unlike Felix, the man gives up immediately, accepting the hand the prince offers and dusting off his uniform. “Well done, Your Highness.”

Dimitri smiles again, though it’s strained, now. “Dedue, I have told you time and time again; you need not refer to me as such, especially while we’re at the academy!”

_ Dedue. _It’s immediate, this time - she doesn’t even blink, and she’s in the greenhouse, Dedue smiling softly beside her. “This greenhouse would be a lonelier place without you in it,” He’s saying, and she beams at him without restraint, her heart full—

“Professor?”

Dimitri’s voice is tight with concern, and his frown reminds her of the man in her memories, face hardened and angry, and she has to resist the urge to smooth his brow. “Apologies, I do not know what came over me.”

Instead of alleviating, his frown only deepens, and she realises it’s the second time in as many days that she’s used that excuse. She scrambles for something to say, but suddenly he claps her on the back so hard she stumbles and smiles at her, albeit slightly awkwardly.

“Would you like to join me for tea?” He flounders. “Uh, I mean, if it’s not improper of me to ask, that is.”

He’s so earnest that she nods before she realises what she’s agreeing to. Oh, Sothis is going to have a _ field day. _

The prince brightens immediately, like sunshine after rain, and fondness almost suffocates her, and abruptly it’s not at all important what Sothis, or Seteth, or anyone thinks, or whether or not it’s proper - these people are her _ friends. _

And goddess strike her down, but she’ll do anything to keep that smile on Dimitri’s face.

“Wonderful!” He claps her on the back again, but she braces herself, laughing internally at his antics - somehow, she remembers him detesting fragile things for this exact reason. “I shall let you know when you can drop by!”

He remembers the man next to him and flushes, sheepish. “Apologies for my rudeness. This is Dedue, a loyal friend of mine.”

That isn’t the half of it, she thinks, memories of the man devastated and aimless rising in her mind unbidden. However, Dedue bows low, and she bows lower and doesn’t rise, knowing that convincing him he is worthy of respect is going to be an uphill battle. She is rewarded when his feet take a miniscule step back, clearly not used to being paid the regard she knows he deserves.

“I am a man of Duscur,” He says gravely. “You would do well not to show me such respect.”

She considers her words, and still does not rise. “I am aware you are of Duscur, which is why I must.” She rises to meet his eyes, only to find them wide. “My father and I both were horrified to hear of the tragedy that befell the royal family, but were disgusted to hear that Duscur had been blamed for it.”  
She remembers her father’s anger and grief, so distant now, that some of his oldest friends, those whom had moved to the beauty of Duscur, had been murdered. To this day, he refused to return, and refused to call it anything other than “Duscur”.

“The massacre of the people there… was nothing short of genocide.” Byleth surprises herself as her vision blurs and anger wells up inside her, and she breaks eye contact to stare at her feet; never able to truly mourn those she knew due to the suppression of her emotions, she distantly supposes this was always coming. “The lands, the people of Duscur… They were beautiful.”

She angrily wipes her eyes, the astonished look on both the boy’s faces almost too much. “We never gave business to that part of the Kingdom after that. We wouldn’t have given business to the Kingdom at all if we hadn’t received word of the young prince trying to convince everyone who would listen of Duscur’s innocence.” She looks at Dimitri meaningfully then, the sight of his flushed face shoving the bite of anger back down. Her next words instead come out laced in muted sadness and something close to reverence. “Anyone of Duscur serving a man of the Kingdom has my respect, as they are far more forgiving than I could ever dream of being.”

Dedue’s expression is stone, but his eyes are overly-bright, and he bows again, far lower, and she feels heat crawl up into her cheeks. “I see. I thank you.”

She nods once, trying to reign in her emotions; something she’s never had to do before, and something she clearly can’t manage as tears start to drip down her face. She clears her throat and bows shallowly. “Please excuse me.”

Training’s easily the last thing on her mind now, and there’s an hour before she needs meet Hanneman; she decides to spend that hour curled up in her bed, weeping for people she knew what feels like decades ago, and a place with flowers found nowhere else. Her heart aches, but when the hour is up, she feels much better, even if feeling better is feeling numb, and her eyes are red from grief. 

Sothis is still asleep, the girl floating quietly beside her. Byleth wants to wake her to ask how to control herself, but not only does she want her to keep resting, she doesn’t want to hear the snort of laughter.

And so, she pulls herself out of her bed for the second time that day and shuffles up the stairs to the second floor, ignoring the looks she gets from the monks and knights, and silently thankful she doesn’t come across anyone else she knows.

The door to his office is open, and the man catches sight of her immediately from one of his bookshelves. The room is modest, to be sure; such bookshelves line the side walls, and a floor to ceiling window is set into the wall behind his desk. He hurries over and guides her in, setting her hand upon a small device attached to the floor in the centre of the room. 

“Now, I know what you said, but I simply must see for myself! Now, if you would, Professor…” 

She holds her arm above the device, and the corner of her crest appears above it. The sight makes her heart throb painfully. It’s awfully, terrifyingly familiar.

Hanneman squints at it. “That doesn’t look much like anything I’ve seen…”

Byleth sighs, already tired. “It’s only a part of it.”

He nods seemingly subconsciously, already turning to reach for a book, muttering to himself. She keeps her arm over the device as he turns back, already reaching for the dials on the side.

“22.8 degrees clockwise… and… yes!”

The picture above her arm shifts, and suddenly her whole crest is there, and bile rises in her throat at the sight of it; the lines remind her of her dream, and of Sothis, who isn’t here to tell her what it means.

Hanneman, meanwhile, gapes at the machine, and she restrains the urge to reach over and shut his mouth. It closes with a snap, before he bursts out into a frankly ridiculous amount of chatter. Ironically, despite their tumultuous relationship, it reminds her disticintly of Manuela.

“By the goddess, I never would have thought someone with the legendary Crest of Flames would ever live again, let alone me be able to study them!”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

He flushes lightly, adjusting his monocle and clearing his throat. “Uh, well, that is to say, of course you aren’t an experiment, but surely you’ll allow me to investigate how you came to acquire this crest?”

She nods, of course, because his tone is so excited, and his eyes are bright, and she remembers cutting him down in the name of saving _ thousands— _

“Professor? I’ve taken all I need, you may go.”

She bows shallowly to him and takes her leave, trying to erase the sight of his glassy eyes from her mind. Her feet automatically take her down the stairs and to the Officers Academy - several especially enthusiastic students already preparing for lessons to start next week. 

The Golden Deer classroom is the farthest of the three, and she walks in, only intending to stop by the lectern for her list of students, only to notice the classroom isn’t empty.

Ashe sits at the desk closest to the front, and straightens when he hears her boots clicking against the wooden floor. He turns in his chair to see who it is, and jumps to his feet when he notices it’s her. “O-Oh, hi there, Professor! My name is Ashe! I’ll be in your class this month!” He bows, hair the shade of his name flopping over his face, and it’s so endearing her heart aches. Instead, she glances over his work; notes on proper bow posture. His handwriting is so familiar she nearly chokes, and her palms start to sweat.

He follows her gaze, then brightens. “I’ve been trying to revise before classes start at the beginning of the week. Archery is my strength, you see.”

And she knows, she really does - the archer felled in that goddess-forsaken land was him, of course - but she forces the thought out of her mind. “Great work,” She manages.

He beams again, pleased. “Thank you!” He then cocks his head to the side, contemplation overtaking his features. “Why are you here today, Professor?”

She nods toward the lectern in front of them. “I’m only here to pick up my list of students, then I’m off to write my lessons for the moon.”

He nods, and sits back down again. “I see. Well, I won’t keep you! Good luck!”

Keep me, she doesn’t say, and once again she’s incredibly thankful Sothis is asleep - she would’ve _ loved _to hear her think that.

Instead, she bows and makes for her desk, the old lectern not bearing a speck of dust despite not being used for the past few months. She supposes she has Cyril to thank for that.

Wait.

Who’s Cyril?

She shakes her head roughly, deciding to think no more of it, and grasps the only parchment on her desk before she could change her mind.

Byleth recognises Seteth’s ridiculously fancy handwriting immediately.

Professor Byleth;

Please see below for a list of your students for the moon. Keep in mind this is a Trial Period of the new system - if this doesn’t work out, the blame will be yours and yours alone.

She snorts inwardly. He was clearly looking forward to her idea falling to bits.

In a few days time, there will be a mock battle between the three houses, intended to gauge the current progress of the students. This battle will be used as an opportunity to ascertain your own abilities as well. Please do not disappoint the archbishop.

Seteth

She takes a breath before reading the list, her stomach twisting. She berates herself - it isn’t like her to be anxious, and reads the names quickly to spite her own nerves.

Claude von Riegan

Hilda Valentine Goneril

Caspar von Bergliez

Linhardt von Hevring

Ashe Ubert

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd

Sylvain Jose Gautier

Felix Hugo Fraldarius

She lets out a breath she didn’t even realise she was holding, and laughs at herself. Why was she worried, again? These people were all her friends.

She nods to Ashe on the way out and makes the quick walk back to her quarters, quickly listing in her head what her students focus on; two archers, two axe users, two lance users, a white magic wielder, and Felix - obviously with a sword.

Lessons start to come to her naturally, both practical and written, and she’s more than thankful that it seems to be in her mind already as she doesn’t know what she would’ve done otherwise.

Sothis yawns as Byleth pushes the door open. “You would’ve done the same, just with more panic, child.” Sleep is heavy in her voice, but she doesn’t seem to be in any pain, and showcases none of the sorrow from the dreams Byleth had.

Instead of responding, she sits herself down at her desk and dips her quill in ink, already scribbling ideas onto her sheets of parchment.

The hours pass as such, and other than Sothis’ comments on her handwriting, she’s uninterrupted, and the lessons over the moon fall into place; she suspects that this is her class not only for the upcoming battle, but for the Harpstring Moon and that battle.

The sun bleeds into the horizon, and the day comes to a close with little fanfare. Sothis has started to huff every so often out of boredom - sleeping most of the day then being stuck in the same room must be claustrophobic, but Byleth doesn’t move until the girl actually asks.

Her hand slams on the desk, apparently able to touch it despite the pillow phasing through her the day before. “Byleth, you didn’t have dinner and haven’t left this room for nearly 9 hours. Please, just a walk… I’m so bored!” She wails like a child when Byleth raises an eyebrow at her.

She sighs and sets her quill in the ink pot, before standing, grabbing her coat, and whirling out the door in one graceful movement.

The night is still slightly chilly, and she pulls her coat closer around her as she makes her way down the porch steps and toward the cathedral. She doesn’t know what urges her there; despite having who is (apparently) the Goddess in her head, she’s never been particularly religious, and her father had always avoided her questions.

And yet still her feet take her there, walking pathways well-worn by other feet, but she pauses with her hand on the door to the bridge as she spots a lone figure there.

Unfortunately, they’d already seen the movement made by the door, and turned to her. “Professor?”

The moon peeks from the clouds, illuminating a short stature and green hair. _ Flayn, _ her mind tells her. _ “Cethleann,” _Sothis corrects, voice shaking. Weight is inches off her shoulders, and she heaves a shuddering breath.

Flayn perks up and dashes over, cheeks pink. “I beg your pardon, Professor, I have yet to introduce myself! My name is Flayn. I reside here with my brother, Seteth.” She bows gracefully. “I do hope we can be friends!”

_ “She’s not, she’s not, she’s not…” _Sothis chants in her head, and it rattles around her skull until she blurts it out, interrupting Flynn mid sentence.

“You’re not.”

Her eyes widen a fraction. “Not what?”

Sothis’ presence disappears rapidly, and Flayn is sprawled face down on the floor, and fear nearly swallows her as she checks for injuries. When it’s clear there’s none, she turns to Claude, only to watch him across a great sandy desert; the girl faces a great dragon, who peers down at her in interest. “Ah, that face takes me back in time. You have not changed one bit, Ceth—”

She looks at him sharply. “I ask that you keep quiet, Uncle!”

Claude looks at her with an easy smile, but she’s long since learned to see surprise in the raise of his eyebrows, and she feels similar astonishment start to eat at her. _ Uncle? _

She blinks. The moon has hidden back behind the clouds, and the night suddenly feels suffocatingly dark.

Flayn has a hand on her arm. Her fingers are small, and they’re not the kind you’d expect on someone thousands of years old, and yet—

“Professor?”

Her eyes are the same shade of Seteth’s, whose eyes are the same shade as—

“Professor! Can you hear me?”

Byleth gazes at the girl, her stomach rolling for reasons she doesn’t know. She remembers Claude bursting into her room late one night, the discovery on his lips—

“Cethleann.” 

Like flicking a switch, the girl’s eyes widen, and she chokes on her next breath. Her next words come out high, and she slips in the door past Byleth to the stairs. “Oh, what reminded you of the saint? I, too, often think of her on moonlit nights such as these!” She coughs. “Yet, I must be going now. The bell tolled ten not long ago.”

She looks at Byleth meaningfully. “Please do not tell my brother you discovered me out this late.” It goes without saying, at least to her - don’t tell Seteth what you know.

She nods once, and the saint walks up the stairs with all the air of a girl of fifteen, and Byleth runs a hand over her face.

Sothis comes back to her with a whispered apology, and her feet take her back to her room quietly.

“Where did you go?” She murmurs.

_ “Away,” _ Sothis responds, voice muted. _ “Away.” _

Silence follows them all the way to her room - the night is empty, even the animals that are normally active at night apparently fleeing under the lack of moonlight - and she barely glances at her unfinished lessons before pulling on her pajamas and falling into bed.

Sothis forms beside her, and visibly hesitates before laying a hand on her hair.

Byleth lifts her head from her pillow to look at her, confusion pulling her expression down. Sothis shrugs. “Your father does it to comfort you. I thought I would do the same.”

Something warm blooms in her chest, and it must show on her face, as Sothis smiles slightly and looks away. “I am not used to seeing your expression like that.”

She pats her hair a few more times before lifting her hand, tutting quietly. “Let’s just go to sleep.”

Her face already in her pillow again, she grunts and closes her eyes, except sleep doesn’t find her for several hours; instead, her marks rise to the front of her mind unbidden, and when she does eventually dream people swirl in and out of her reach. 

She catches glances of scenes that are both jarring and heartwarming - Claude hands her a pulsating bow and smiles though his eyes are resigned and empty much like something deep in her soul that withers and dies, and the bow loses its glow as soon as soon as he disappears into the horizon on his snowy wyvern, and she falls to the ground and weeps, cheek scorching—

And the pain doesn’t even fully disappear as she’s thrown against a pillar in the cathedral, the fractured concrete shifting precariously as strong hands pin her there, and she doesn’t even blink before blond hair fills her vision and all thoughts are drawn to his lips at the hollow of her neck, and her hands grip his hair tightly and he growls and goddess she _ needs him— _

And she’s so, _ so _ tired of dreaming, of seeing these memories; it’d barely been days and already these people had filled her mind, but the absolute worst thing is that she knows something is coming, a storm is brewing on the horizon, something huge and dangerous and _ deadly, _ but all that she can remember about _ anything _is the students.

She wakes the next morning with a frustrated groan, and Sothis pats her hair again, looking genuinely sorrowful. She pulls the pillow over her face tightly, then throws it away and huffs. “Why is this happening? What even happened?”

Sothis frowns, hand stilling. “You keep going back - pushing my power far, far too hard.” The girl’s expression is subdued. “This last time was one time too many, I suppose. Time has begun to split - it is pulling apart at the seams.”

Byleth bites her lip. “That sounds… bad.”

She scoffs as if she said something stupid. “Well, you have yourself to blame for these memories, at the very least.”

It is her fault, she supposes, but when she wonders what was so awful in her other lives that she chose this over it, and when she remembers stinging eyes and stinging pain, it’s hard to stay upset.

Claude’s retreating form fills her mind, and her shoulders slump, but she says, “I do not regret it.”

Sothis shakes her head, scoffing again, but there’s a small smile on her face, and her words are tinted with amusement. “Mortals. Only you would tear apart time to get what you want.”


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg look a new chapter!!  
i am SO sorry this is late everyone, i have just been so busy with work and travelling for Christmas that i just didn't have time. i also had to get over some pretty major writer's block, but i got there in the end.  
please remember to check my tumblr for updates!! i post if it's going to be late, when to expect an update etc all there.  
expect the next chapter with about the same time, especially with new years around the corner :(  
but forget that, read the chapter! i did actually enjoy writing it so !!

The next two days are spent mostly in her quarters planning the rest of the month, and writing notes as to the directions her students’ education after the month’s conclusion. Sothis is clearly stir-crazy, but begrudgingly satisfied with her outings to meals and to pick up the gauntlets she’d forgotten about during her duel with Felix. She sighs in relief when the plate on her knee snaps into place and Sothis tuts at her for forgetting to pick it up.

The plans for the battle come far less naturally as she attempts to consider the relationships between her students and realises that she has no ideas whatsoever; the only thing she has to go off are their previous classes, and dividing them up as such would definitely defeat the point of the new classes anyway. She also only has two girls and only one commoner.

Sothis laughs out loud when Byleth tells her the first point and doesn’t stop until she tells her about the second, but isn’t worried in the slightest. “This is monthly, correct? The classes will change several times over the coming year. Everyone will get to know each other eventually.” She shrugs. “This school is mostly nobility anyway.”

She tries her best and eventually decides on having Hilda, Claude, and Dimitri out, with Lindhardt for support. She knows Hilda and Claude’s dynamic almost too well and is certain they’ll work well together, and she figures she may as well get started on interstate relationships by throwing Dimitri into the mix.

She can also recall Linhardt’s lazy attitude from somewhere but isn’t sure where, and decides to gather what she can from the battle.

It takes her the whole day to draw these conclusions, though, and it’s late into the day after that she determines her plan of attack; Seteth had been kind enough to provide the layout of the battlefield but had seemed almost haughty when he pointed out where her class was to start the battle - the only team without cover or a stronghold.

At the time, it had seemed problematic, but when she examines the map again, it becomes clearer that the forest nearby would provide fine cover, and she decides to stick to that and let the others classes come to them.

Her busyness distracts her from her memories, at least for a little while, and her sleep is dreamless thanks to Sothis, so she’s able to get almost everything done, and even plan a seminar; she’s sure if she asks Seteth to give it he might be flattered enough to forgive her for existing. Sothis snickers at this thought.

And yet, when she stands outside the doors to the Golden Deer’s classroom, it quickly becomes evident that no amount of preparation would stop her fear of doing something wrong. Sothis is there, barely; she’s exhausted due to keeping the memories at bay, but she still gives Byleth a rough mental nudge.  _ “Get on with it, then.” _

The quiet chatter ceases as soon as she walks in, and she determinedly keeps her gaze forward as she makes her way to the lectern. She only looks up at the class after setting down her notes and straightening them twice (Sothis chuckles tiredly) and isn’t surprised to see them sitting in their houses, and mirroring the classroom order; she avoids Claude’s knowing eyes on her left, forcing down the burning in her cheeks, nods at Dimitri in the centre, and waves back at Caspar on her right, albeit hesitantly.

She moulds her expression to something impassive before clapping twice. Everyone straightens, except Linhardt, who mutters something from his position face down on his desk. “Before we get started, I would like to draw your attention to the way you’re sitting.”

Ashe tilts his head from his seat next to Dimitri, and behind them, she notices Felix raise an eyebrow.

Hilda frowns. “What about it?”

She can practically hear Claude’s smirk. “It’s not very  _ unified _ of us, is it, Teach?”

“Oh! Would you like us to move, Professor?” Dimitri’s already standing, and Sylvain is slinging his coat over his shoulder next to Felix.

She nods, and everyone bar Linhardt obediently stands and shuffles to a new seat. The situation is almost hilarious; they mutter amongst themselves, and Byleth muffles a laugh when she watches Sylvain and Dimitri sit in the exact same spots. Hilda and Claude take the seats next to them respectively, while Ashe and Caspar smile at each other on the left, and Felix rolls his eyes and dumps his bag next to Linhardt.

She nods at them all, once. “Good.” They stare at her expectantly, Ashe already with a quill in hand, and she feels her mouth begin to dry. Sothis gives her a mental kick.

She takes a deep breath and feels better immediately. “At the end of the week, there will be a mock battle. I believe it is meant to replicate the battle of Eagle and Lion that takes place half a year from now. I have already chosen who will participate.”

A lazy voice interrupts. “How do you know who will work well together?” Apparently Linhardt isn’t as asleep as she thought.

She stares at him, carefully keeping her expression neutral. “I don’t. This is a good opportunity to find out.” Before he can say anything else, she continues. “So, I want all of you to say your name, where you’re from, and what you would like to focus on while you’re here, as well as something you’ve never tried but could be interested in.”

She gives them a moment to process this, before she turns to Ashe on the left. He scrambles to his feet. “Uh, my name is Ashe Ubert, and I am from Castle Gaspard in the south of the Kingdom. I’m not nobility, though! Lord Lonato took me in.” He laughs, though it’s strained from having the attention of the room, and Byleth finds herself smiling fondly and quickly represses it, before glancing around to see if anyone saw it. Thankfully, everyone’s eyes are on Ashe, except—

Claude’s blinding smile is turned on her, eyes knowing from beside Dimitri at the very front, and a shiver runs down her spine, and she turns back to Ashe, forcing her countenance to stay schooled.

“I would like to keep working on my bow skills, but I wouldn’t mind picking up a lance every so often!” He finishes with a shallow bow in her direction and flounders for a bit before sitting.

Caspar stands as soon as Ashe hits his seat. “I’m Caspar, from Bergliez in East Adresita. Pleased to meet ya! I like hitting things with an axe and maybe smashing things with my fists!”

Byleth covers another smile with her fist as Linhardt groans audibly from the other side of the room, still face down. “Must you always speak so brazenly, Caspar?”

The bluenette narrows his eyes and raises a foot to slam it on his chair. Ashe jumps, and Hilda barely covers a laugh. “Why don’t you come over here and say that again, Linhardt?” His voice is threatening, but the smile on his face gives him away.

“I would rather not, frankly. This desk is very comfortable.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice now.

“Wh—”

“Okay!” Byleth says exasperatedly, and he looks at her apologetically before bowing and taking a seat.

Dimitri goes to stand next, but Sylvain shoots up behind him and lays a hand on his shoulder before sauntering around the desks towards her and taking a knee. Her heart rate shoots through the ceiling so fast Sothis wakes.  _ “What’s going on?” _ Then;  _ “Oh.”  _ And some snickering.

He grabs her hand, and she wills the heat to stay  _ out _ of her face, but he’s really just  _ so _ handsome, and he kisses it with a wink. She remembers his perfect mask from a few days and searches his face for insincerity, and Sothis perks up, suddenly interested. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m Sylvain Jose Gautier, heir to the house and bearer of the crest of Gautier,” He’s saying, but his eyes are dead and empty below their facade of happiness, and she pulls her hand away. 

“Crests and heirships don’t matter on the battlefield.” She says shortly. Sylvain looks stricken at the hardness in her face, but she’d seen fools run in with more to their name than that thinking it would protect them. She glances over to the rest of the class. “Pride. Honour. It’s all worthless if you can’t survive it.”

Ashe looks upset, but Felix looks approving, lounging back in his seat next to Linhardt. Sylvain recovers dramatically, hands on his hips and posture straight, and his face is blank as he replies. “I couldn’t agree more.”

The smile sprouts again so quickly she wonders if she imagined his impassiveness, and he sashays back to his seat. “I prefer the lance, but I wouldn’t mind dabbling in a bit of magic, Professor.”

She nods, slightly speechless.  _ “What a character,”  _ Sothis mutters, already half asleep again. Hilda stands and flicks one of her pink pigtails behind her. Byleth sees Felix roll his eyes out of the corner of her eye. “I’m Hilda Valentine Goneril, from the border to the west of the Alliance.” She pouts. “Oh, but Professor, I wouldn’t be any good on the battlefield! I’m so weak, and—”

“She wields an axe, and wouldn’t mind learning how to fly,” Finishes Claude, the smirk on his face startlingly real and directed at Byleth. She nods and keeps down a smile at Hilda’s now genuine pout.

“Claude!”

“Don’t worry, Hilda,” Starts Byleth, “I would’ve found out eventually - and you absolutely will be fighting,” She finishes hastily, as Hilda opens her mouth to retort. She closes it with a snap and sits down again, still pouting. Sylvain laughs into his fist next to her and she gives him a withering look.

Dimitri rises, his slightly nervous demeanour making him seem small despite towering over the majority of the room, and Byleth wonders why he’s so worried despite addressing thousands in the castle.

“My name is Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. I hail from Fhirdiad in Faerghus.” He goes to say something, apparently thinks better of it, then changes subjects altogether. “I enjoy the lance, but I wouldn’t mind riding, either.” He bows quickly and sits back down, and she bows her head at him in silent thanks. He nods back, a small smile on his face.

Claude winks at her before standing, and she resists the urge to put a hand to her heart. Sothis is apparently awake enough to scoff. “I’m Claude von Riegan, from Derdriu in Leicester. Archery runs in my family, but I wouldn’t mind learning how to properly swing an axe, Teach.” He bows, but unlike the others, it’s low and long enough that Sylvain wolf whistles and Caspar snickers, and her face heats as he straightens, winks at her again and sits down.

Felix makes a sound of disgust before pushing himself up. “Felix. Fraldarius. I wield a sword, but I wouldn’t hate learning magic.” He takes his seat again gracefully, and Byleth nods at him before looking expectantly to Linhardt.

The green-haired boy doesn’t move, but he does speak. “Linhardt von Hevring, from the south of the Empire. I use magic. That’s it.” He sighs heavily, as if speaking is a great effort and bother. Felix rolls his eyes again.

“I am Byleth Eisner.” She starts, and all eyes are immediately on her. “I have travelled so often I do not remember where I am from. My weapon of choice is a sword, but I am proficient in axes, lances, bows, and a decent amount of magic.”

It feels awkward, and like bragging to say things like this, but Sothis had insisted so that they respect her. As it stands, it looks like only one or two don’t believe her.

“At the beginning of each week, I will mentor you individually on these skills you have told me about today. You can change them at any time, just come and see me. Whilst I am mentoring, the rest of you will train. During the rest of the week, I will lecture you on other tactics.” With that, she picks up her notes and bag and walks to the front of the room, expecting them to follow. When she hears no footsteps, she turns to see them still in their seats, staring at her with open mouths. She raises her eyebrows. “Come on, then.”

There's scrambling, then - Ashe frantically packs his notebooks away, as does Dimitri, while Linhardt finally picks himself up from his desk. When they’re all ready, she leads the way to the training ground with a small smile, and relishes in the shocked look on the other teacher’s faces as they walk past the other classrooms.

Ashe catches up to the front. “Um, Professor? Where are we going?”

She looks at him. “The training ground. Where else?”

When she pushes open the doors, it’s empty; she had booked it specifically for today, and so the knights who would usually train today are forced to the knight’s hall. Felix immediately beelines for the weapons stack, while the others stand there, some shuffling their feet. Hilda whispers something to Claude, who shakes his head with a wide grin.

Well, that was easier than she had imagined. “Hilda!”   
The girl freezes. “Yes, Professor?”

“Thanks for volunteering. Go grab an axe and let’s go.” She turns to the rest of the class. “And I expect you all to train.”

Dimitri nods once, and a few of them start to scatter; Felix is already running through some drills, while Ashe starts to stretch. Linhardt groans to nobody in particular, and Caspar drags him to grab an axe.

Hilda, meanwhile, picks at the peeling wood of her training axe. “Um, Professor? What exactly are we doing?”

Byleth picks up an axe of her own, and leads the girl over to a sparse area. She faces her. “Training.”

She then swings the axe down toward the student, who blocks it seemingly without thinking with her own. She huffs. “You didn’t even ask if I was ready!”

Byleth swings again from the side, keeping it slow. Hilda blocks it again, with slightly more effort, the handle of the axe creaking against the force. “The enemy won’t ask for permission.”

She huffs again and deflects the next swing Byleth throws on her right, and the force behind it is surprising enough that she has to remind herself to block the swing the girl throws at her. She smirks. “Feet wider. It’ll allow you to put more force into the blow.”

Hilda stares at her for a second before doing as she says, and a small smile appears when her axe swings just a little bit faster.

They continue in this fashion for a while; sparring, while Byleth corrects her technique, and Hilda gets gradually more into it, but also gradually more tired, and she lets the pink-haired girl off with a “Great job today,” when her swings start to slow.

She bows, heaving breaths, and wanders off in the direction of the taps. Byleth makes a few notes about her improvement; her axe use is overall better if she can just remember to stand properly.

Sothis makes a quiet note of approval.  _ “You’re doing well,”  _ She says, and it’s a comfort despite the goddess’ clear exhaustion. She glances out over the training ground to see everyone working hard, more or less; Dimitri and Sylvain spar with a ferocity she didn’t expect to see out of the redhead, while Claude and Ashe chat over by the firing range, arrows splintering out of the bullseyes of both of their targets.

She nods once to herself, only slightly surprised to see them actually doing as she asked, when Caspar bounds up to her, Linhardt trailing behind only slightly.

“Professor! It’s good to see you back on your feet!” His happiness is bubbly, and she resists the urge to brush her knuckles.

“Indeed.” Sothis clears her throat pointedly, and Byleth bows low. Heat crawls down her neck. “Thank you again. For, um, saving me.”

Her’s and Sothis’ shock at the hesitation in her words nearly drowns out the next words the boy says, his hand at the back of his neck and a sheepishly proud expression on his face. “Well, it was nothing. I couldn’t just let someone drown!”

Surprise still shakes her bones, but she nods. “Admirable.”

He beams at her, and Linhardt rolls his eyes. “More likely it’s going to get him killed.”

The boy whirls on Linhardt immediately. “Hey, you—”

Something else breaks through her shock, and she lets out a kind of half-laugh half-snort, and Caspar turns back to her, eyes wide. Linhardt raises an eyebrow. Sothis snorts herself.  _ “Well, I’ll be…” _

Byleth quickly clears her throat, and she can feel her cheeks burn. “That is, would you like to spar, Caspar?” She gestures to her axe.

He blinks a few times, before grinning at her. “Okay, Professor! Let’s go!”

She raises her axe to block his first blow, and it becomes obvious very quickly that Caspar’s strength is in how hard he hits. Despite his size, the blows push her back, and his speed is surprising, and his smile is disarming, and she really needs to focus.

Time passes quickly as she works around him and tries to force him onto the defence, but his movements are shockingly precise as he swings above, then left, then right, then left, then sweeps; his hair ruffles in the wind and in his haste and she grits her teeth against it and digs in her heels, swinging her axe around quick enough that he has to block.

On the defensive he’s not nearly as fast - he’s unable to predict enemy movements (a problem, she notes), and his grip on the axe loosens. She corrects him on the grip by grabbing his hands, and Sothis whispers in warning as she flexes her fingers around his and the words become visible on her barely-covered knuckles. Caspar gasps a breath and she pulls away as if burnt, blood pounding in her ears.

She spares a glance at him, and he’s frowning at his hands, still loosely gripping the axe, and mercifully the fourth bell tolls and she flees like a criminal, straight out of the training grounds and to her quarters, trying hard to keep what she now knows is tears at bay.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! thank you for coming back to this!  
i am SO sorry about the delay on this one. i really have no excuse other than horrific writer's block and new year busyness.  
but it's here! and i hope you all enjoy! it's been written and rewritten so many times that i'm just gonna post it so i don't have to look at it anymore haha.  
thanks again!

Sothis appears as soon as she shuts the door behind her, covering a yawn with her hand. “Well, you just had to touch him, didn’t you?”

Byleth paces. “There’s a chance he didn’t see, right?” 

She nods, flicking an imaginary speck of dust off her ridiculous clothes. “I suppose.” She pauses. “And yet, there is also a chance he did see.” 

Byleth slumps on the bed and puts her head in her hands. She knows, of course, that she’ll go on as if this never happened as well; for all she knows, nothing  _ has _ happened. Still, something inside her feels dirty for hiding all but the mark on her face, but she shakes it off and puts her mind to the plans for the mock battle, now just a few days away.

As if to protest, there's a knock on the door. She looks to Sothis helplessly, and the goddess shrugs and disappears. Schooling her expression, she opens the door purposefully and is surprised to see Dimitri standing there.

“Professor!” He says earnestly, and it occurs to her that she left the training grounds without so much as a word to the rest of her class.  _ “Silly girl,”  _ Sothis tuts as she internally chides her inability to stop her emotions controlling her actions.

“Dimitri,” She says. “Apologies for leaving so quickly.” She doesn’t offer an excuse, but apparently she doesn’t need one as he bows his head.

“Not to worry. I was simply going to ask if you were free for tea tomorrow evening, after dinner.”

Sothis’ surprise is very nearly tangible, but Byleth keeps her face schooled. “That sounds wonderful, Dimitri. Thank you.”

He smiles brightly, the sight warming her, before clearing his throat awkwardly and bowing. “Well, I best leave you to it. See you at dinner.” With that, he rises and heads in the direction of the hall.

Byleth shuts the door behind her, and Sothis appears in a flash. “What, pray tell, was that?”

She sits down at her desk, pointedly facing away from the goddess, and picks up her quill. The only thing that still required planning for the battle was their overall strategy. Trying to take into consideration the other two classes and their strategies as well as playing to the strengths of their little group was proving to be quite difficult, as shown by the crumpled up pieces of parchment in the wastepaper basket next to her feet. However, she answers. “Dimitri asked me to tea last week, while you were asleep. I accepted.”

Byleth swivels to face her when that garners no response, and is surprised to see sadness gracing her expression. “I see.” Sothis says quietly. “That has... never happened before.”

Byleth does not know what to say to that, so after staring at the goddess for a moment longer, she turns back to her work and puts it out of her mind. 

It’s clear that Edelgard will be leading Hanneman’s class; mostly Black Eagles, it consists of the princess, Hubert, Dedue, Lorenz, Ferdinand, Leonie, Petra, and Dorothea. In all honesty, it had shocked her when she saw Dimitri’s name without Dedue’s; he must have snuck off with Sylvain to put their names down. She’d bet all the class money that that won’t happen again.

Manuela’s class, however, is giving her a little more trouble. With she herself having the other two “leaders”, it’s hard to predict who will lead their strategy. However, she’s willing to put money on the strong-willed girl from Galatea, Ingrid. 

She had traveled through Galatea with her father during the early days of their band of mercenaries; the famine had given them a lot of trouble, not to mention the bitter cold. It had been rumoured at the time that the noble family ruling the region had less money than that of the people, but regardless, they didn’t visit again for a long while after.

If that was the case, she wouldn’t be surprised if Ingrid was one of the more thrifty nobles - she held those in the noble class who respected money and in the habit of saving it in much higher regard than those nobles who had plenty of money and spent it recklessly.

The last time she had been in Galatea, the rumours that had been flying amongst the common folk spoke of the lovely daughter of the Count (and the sole crest-bearer, those more cynical had pointed out) being married off to the heir of Fraldarius, and how that would bring prosperity for the whole region.

Hearing the young heir had died in the tragedy was just added insult to injury, after the entire royal family was murdered save the prince. However, knowing Kingdom nobles, she doubts the Count would’ve given up on marrying her away after the first prospect hadn’t worked out.

Byleth shakes herself out of her thoughts and focuses back on the parchment, frowning at the inkblot she’d left whilst daydreaming. Sothis giggles next to her. “It is unlike you to get distracted.”

She ignores the mischievous look in the goddess’ eyes and instead shuffles quickly through her papers to find the list of classes, and scribbles down Manuela’s class to try and predict who would be on the field; out of Ingrid, Lysithea, Annette, Mercedes, Ignatz, Raphael, Marianne and Bernadetta, she eventually concludes that the likely people are Ingrid, Lysithea and Mercedes as well as Raphael for physical support - with the chance of Annette filling in for Lysithea instead. Bernadetta would likely be unable to be convinced to join, as would Marianne, and Ignatz doesn’t have the same commanding presence as Ingrid.

As for Edelgard’s troupe, she assumes that Dedue, Lorenz, and Leonie would be sidelined due to not being from the original house; which leaves the most likely candidates to be Edelgard, Dorothea, Ferdinand and Hubert. If it was up to her, she would personally trade out Ferdinand for Petra - her work ethic is through the roof - but Ferdinand likely insisted on joining in, his rivalry to Edelgard commonly on his mind.

She freezes as she writes this, considering how and where she got this information from considering she had never met the man, but Sothis tuts. “Don’t overthink it, child.”

Frowning, she continues; if this is the case, then Edelgard’s push would likely be uncoordinated, as Ferdinand would ignore her orders in an attempt to outsmart her and likely end up too deep in enemy lines for Dorothea to cast Heal.

No, the push she was really worried about was Ingrid’s; with support and magic, Ingrid and Raphael have enough dexterity and strength between them to completely halt their push; the only offensive magic they have to combat it out of their entire class is Linhardt’s Nosferatu, and having him on the front lines is out of the question.

She’s still puzzling over how to handle them when the eighth bell tolls, signalling the last hour of dinner. Her stomach grumbles in response, and she decides that this can wait until tomorrow. 

Sothis looks happy at her intentions to leave, as she decisively pulls on her gloves instead of her gauntlets and strides out the door.

The air is only slightly cooler than it had been during the day, and the ruckus from the dining hall can be heard from the dormitories, but for the first time in what feels like forever she finds herself looking forward to it, and hurries that little bit faster.

When she pushes open the door, she’s met with the slightly discouraging sight that everyone is still sitting in their original houses; yet, as she looks closer (ignoring the disgruntled wave from Sothis) she notices some people have branched out. Ashe sits with Linhardt and Caspar (whose gaze she avoids) and chatters happily to the bluenette, while Linhardt tries not to look exhausted at Caspar’s inability to chew.

Dedue is next to the prince, of course, but she’s pleasantly surprised to see Petra on his other side, poking at her stir-fry and asking questions about his Whitefish Sauté, clearly interested in Fódlan cooking. Dedue complies with the tiniest smile she’s ever seen.

And in probably the most surprising change of them all, Manuela sits by Hanneman and  _ Seteth,  _ who looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else as she elbows him to emphasize whatever point she’s making. Hanneman shakes his head across from the pair, and turns to Flayn to engage her in conversation. The not-so-young girl looks more than happy to be there.

One of the knights clears their throat behind her, and she quickly hurries out of the doorway and towards the food. The pheasant smells heavenly, so she heaps some onto her plate, drizzles on the sauce and takes the closest seat, all so she can start piling it into her mouth.

It’s bliss - that’s her first thought. The pheasant falls apart deliciously in her mouth, and the berry sauce adds a tinge of sweetness to the spicy flavours present in the seasoning. She smiles lightly and opens her eyes to find she’s next to Edelgard and a beautiful woman who must be Dorothea, with Hubert and a man with a proud stature (most likely Ferdinand) on the other side.

“Good evening, Professor. I take it the pheasant is good tonight?” Edelgard remarks, tone lilting up at the end as Dorothea laughs delicately behind her hand.

A flush overcomes her almost instantly, and she stares pointedly at her dinner. “Ah, yes. My apologies for my lacking manners.” She glances up, expecting Ferdinand to be offended, but instead he gazes at her openly, and beams when she meets his eyes. “I do not believe we have been introduced! I am Ferdinand von Aegir, legitimate son of the Aegir family, the Empire's foremost house.” He nods, his posture straight as a board. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

She bows her head. “Likewise.” It comes out less robust than she intended, but as he flicks his hair she remembers searching for any sign of that shock of bright red under a mountain of broken concrete. She glances back down to her food, appetite draining from her.

But her attention is almost immediately grabbed again by Dorothea, who taps her arm and smiles sweetly, and her green eyes are so familiar but she can’t remember where from. “My name is Dorothea.” She smiles widely and leans forward as if about to share a secret, and it’s abruptly clear where she remembers her from - Sothis cracks up as she feels her palms start to sweat at the memory of her lips on the beautiful woman’s. “Before I joined the academy, I was a member of an opera company in the Empire.” She leans back and beams, and Byleth breathes again. “You should hear me sing sometime!”

She nods, as she’s been rendered paralysed by the memory, and watches as Dorothea gazes quickly at Byleth’s hands, huffs at something, and turns to the person beside her. She looks down, trying to spot what was so annoying. The gloves given to her by (presumably) Seteth fit perfectly, but when she glances at Dorothea’s hands it becomes abundantly clear what she was looking for - there, on the back of her right hand, were words in such a delicate script it couldn’t possibly be hers.

She glances along the table; Edelgard, Hubert and Ferdinand all were wearing gloves as well. A rush of  _ something  _ consumes her; the songstress is obviously looking for her soulmate, as many tend to do. But why would she herself kiss someone like that who isn’t one of her soulmates?

Edelgard must decide in herself that it is time for small talk, as she puts down her sweet bun and turns to her. “I should say, Professor, that I completely approve of what you’re doing here. The officer’s academy shouldn’t be restricted in terms of birthplace.” Her expression darkens. “In all honesty, I do not believe the costs to attend are fair either, but I suppose you have no power over that.”

She blinks, before shaking her head. “No, unfortunately I cannot control that.”

Edelgard nods in reply, obviously expecting that answer. Her hair falls in front of her ear, and she pushes it back, sighing. “Unfortunately, the same approval has yet to be garnered from the Adrestian nobles. Count Varley in particular has had some…” She pauses strangely, and Byleth gets the feeling she would roll her eyes if it was counted as proper. “...  _ Interesting _ grievances.”

She sounds remarkably untroubled as to what her minister of religion believes, but before she can even consider what that means, Hubert gains her attention from beside Ferdinand. As soon as she makes eye contact, a slither runs down the back of her neck - like someone cracked a fresh egg over her head and let it drip down.

Sothis cries out, and she’s plunged into her memory like cold water, and distantly she feels her head hit the plate but it’s outweighed by the sounds of yet  _ another _ battlefield. Shouts erupt from her right, and she turns instinctively to help but collapses as her chest burns like she’s been stabbed over and over, and her throat aches from screams that tear through her as a raw, guttural howl explodes on her right. She rolls over just in time to watch Sylvain crash from his horse as Dark Spikes retreats, and the mix of Hubert’s disgusting, blood roiling laugh and the pain makes nausea quickly rise in her, and her screaming is interrupted by her needing to empty her stomach, vomit mixing with the stench of mud. A second howl peters off into pained sobs, and she catches sight of Felix, bloody and bruised on the ground, and fear makes her nearly pass out as she watches, helpless, as Hubert slowly moves towards him, still laughing.

She sits up just as Edelgard stands, and the princess’ relieved sigh does nothing to alleviate her sudden fear of the man across from her. The woman sits down again. “Thank goodness, Professor. Are you well?” She sounds genuinely concerned, and her eyes are kind, but knowing Hubert’s dedication to Edelgard and how he killed her friends throws everything out of balance. 

_ “How much did the girl know?”  _ Sothis adds quietly.

Still, she nods silently to her question and accepts Ferdinand’s handkerchief with a quiet thank you. She wipes the sauce off her face quickly before standing and bowing. “It’s been a pleasure.” With that, she dumps her plate and walks as quick as she can back to her room.

_ “You didn’t even eat half,”  _ Sothis tuts quietly. It doesn’t matter. She isn’t hungry anymore.

She pushes the door open and kicks her shoes off. Her bed looks so comfortable, and she doesn’t bother changing as she collapses into it.

Sothis appears next to her and floats over, looking regretful. “I am sorry I could not stop that.”

Despite the disgust and nausea roiling in her stomach, Byleth shakes her head. “I’m glad you didn’t.” Now she was closer to knowing what exactly was going on here, and what cruel fate had placed her friends in a warzone. It wasn’t a nice feeling, though; that the people she broke bread with would so easily stab her and all her friends in the back is enough to make her feel an indescribable mix of horror and outrage. 

But then Felix’s screams filter through her ears again, and it becomes increasingly clear that it doesn’t matter who the enemy is; she will fight them, and she will win.

With that thought, and Sothis’ quiet humming, she falls into another dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!  
some more stupid stuff that i thought:  
Bergliez. Bergliez. What a stupid name.  
Heirship is actually a word! Who knew.  
It is a CRIME that Dedue has no supports with anyone outside blue lions.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! please check my tumblr for updates! raindrops-on-the-roof


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